


A Modest Price for Revenge

by undeadrabbit



Series: Despite My Moral and Ethical Objections, I Must Admit These Are Submissions for Shuake Week 2019 [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Consentacles, Demon Sex, Depression, Gore, Hammer Torture, M/M, Persona Sex, Rat Torture, Revenge, Skinning, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Torture, animal cruelty, burned to death, flaying, water cure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2020-12-14 15:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeadrabbit/pseuds/undeadrabbit
Summary: In a weird way, they'll be [soulmates], won't they?





	1. Chapter 1

**** When Arsene receives yet another request, there's nothing but hate.

It says plenty about the world that calls for vengeance are so abundant, that many like Arsene are actually  _ overworked,  _ if that was possible. And Arsene has quite a number to get to himself. All from around the world, all with their own brand of enticing offerings, all accompanied with varying levels of hatred.

But this one… this summon pushed Arsene to drop and rearrange all his priorities. This summon had with it a hatred so strong, Arsene knew that whoever was on the other end wouldn't stay human for very long. It was a hatred so strong, they could call forth a bloody curse all on their own, and as a consequence doom them to become one of his kind.

Demons in Christianity. _Yokai _in Shintoism. _Anito _in Filipino Animism. _Asura, Rakshasa, Aswang, guài, deamhan… _Arsene's kind went by many names across history and across cultures, never quite fitting into any one category. Some are nicer than others; some take certain forms over others. In the end they have only one thing in common; they were all human once.

Those who hate so strongly, so deeply, bring curses onto living beings—and then one day, they wake up as a  _ creature  _ of sorts. What they do after doesn't matter; it just so happens that a hot new trend these days is to take on contracts. There's nothing else to do but watch the world burn, like they all wished for at some point.

Which brings Arsene back around to the call.

Through time and space, it reaches out to him and Arsene can't help but feel intrigued. Who would bear such a soul, so plagued with hatred? What happened for such rotten flowers to blossom? Arsene wants to know, and so he stops whatever it was he was doing (he's already forgotten) and with a beat of his wings, vanishes to the human world in blue fire.

On the other side of the summon is a boy.

Well, perhaps 'boy' isn't quite right. The one before Arsene is more a 'young man' rather than a 'boy'. He studies the young man as the other studies him. His wings fold as he landed softly on the bloodied floor of a sparse apartment.

The young man is a disheveled brunet with burning garnet eyes. His palm drips with the crimson paint he used to write the multiple hateful  _ ofuda  _ surrounding them _ .  _ The incense sticks and the offerings, followed by the blood bowl on a small platform, create a makeshift Japanese altar dedicated to Arsene. In wooden bowls, organized around the altar, are the specific offerings for his summoning. There's freshly cooked rice, raw coffee beans, raw vegetables… all homegrown, Arsene can tell. Even the coffee beans.

Impressive; and a little worrying. But Arsene doesn't show that. He simply bows low, wings spreading neatly behind him and his head angled so his tophat doesn't knock anything.

"Greetings, I am Arsene."

The young man gives a curt nod. "I need you to—"

"Ah, manners." Arsene tuts. "Your name?"

Burning red eyes. "Goro Akechi."

"Akechi-kun, then?" 

"Yes. If you're here, it means that these are all satisfactory, correct?"

The creature looks down at the bowls, further examining the contents. The rice is fluffy and steaming, cooked absolutely perfectly. The vegetables are healthy and vibrant without even having been exposed to heat. The few coffee beans are surprisingly well tended to.

And the icing on the cake: the blood. The bowl of blood that wasn't necessary in this ritual—but it was an awfully good show of dedication, if the others weren't already. And this much blood… Arsene knows just from this that Akechi would burn the whole world if he could.

"These are satisfactory, yes."

The young man visibly relaxes and quickly pulls out a list, written in plain black. "Okay, well you see—"

"Patience," Arsene tuts again. Goro Akechi lowers the list and stares in confusion. "You have a kitchen, do you not?"

"Well… yes, but—"

"And the stove works?"

"Yes, and—"

"Splendid, I can cook."

"I—excuse me?"

The flames of Arsene's mask morph into something of an amused smile. "I can cook, and we can have a little chat over warm dinner. What do you say?"

Akechi doesn't move for a while before visibly resigning himself with a sigh. "It's 3am, don't be noisy."

A wider, flaming grin. What an interesting man; brave, headstrong, determined—and mildly sassy.

Arsene likes that.

* * *

Goro Akechi is an orphan, abandoned by society to rot in a dilapidated building until he reached the arbitrary age of twenty. Determined to spite the world, Akechi clawed his way up the ranks into acceptance, leaving a trail of blood from broken moral compasses and determination. He ignored it all and kept climbing until people would  _ look at him. _ He didn't stop until his own  _ father _ would look at him.

But the price for acknowledgement was involvement with the  _ yakuza.  _ Goro Akechi bit the bullet and clawed up the ranks there too.

His father wanted to be a god among men, and the closest he could get was to become prime minister; and so Akechi helped him every step of the way. Soon Akechi's plan fell into place, and he prepared to get revenge. He would kill his father, all his allies, all the members of every  _ yakuza  _ group he interacted with, and collapse society in return for what happened to him.

"But I was too comfortable. I was a stupid  _ child _ . Shido was just using me to…" 

The young man glares down at the plate of curry Arsene served him, fists clenched around utensils so tightly, his knuckles turn white. He doesn't finish that thought and his rage is focused elsewhere.

"The moment that lowlife became Prime Minister, the  _ yakuza _ turned on me. I've been on the run ever since."

"So that's your story," Arsene says. The creature picks idly at a piece of carrot, drenched in curry sauce. "And you want me to…?"

"I want them  _ tortured to death. All of them.  _ Every last one that’s made my life horrible, I want them to die an excruciating death, and then I want them  _ damned to Hell _ ."

Arsene doesn't speak for a moment. 

Akechi's expression is resolute.

Seeing that, seeing the determination in fiery, ruby eyes, it dawns on Arsene that… unless Akechi gets into a contract, he would turn into one of them within  _ days _ . Akechi would roam the earth forever, never move on from this place. His soul won't ever know  _ rest. _

And isn’t rest what Akechi needs most of all?

There's nothing after revenge. Achieving it is ecstasy, but like all drugs, the high wears off and is quickly followed by sobriety. Then for a split second, right after the addicting fog wears off and everything gets cold, it becomes clear that it's not enough. Revenge isn't enough to soothe whatever ache there is that needs to be soothed. It's something that never really leaves.

In the end, the steepest price to pay for revenge is to be turned into an immortal monster, like Arsene.

Or perhaps he's merely projecting. After all, forgiveness isn't an option either. What else was there to do?

Perhaps this was the fate of humanity.

Arsene silently debates with himself on whether or not to reveal that within a few days, if Akechi lingered on his hate even more, he would have the power to torment as many people as he liked. Akechi wouldn't have to sell his soul to Arsene, but he'd be subjecting himself to a fate that, in Arsene's opinion, was worse than the void.

"Well?"

Akechi has on him a look of youthful impatience. So, so young, like Arsene once upon a time.

"I could do that; quite easily in fact. However, the price would be your soul."

" _ Just  _ my soul? For all that?"

"Don't underestimate the power of a human soul, Akechi." Arsene chooses not to linger on Akechi's preparedness to sacrifice other people. He drums his claws right beside his untouched plate of curry. "Yours is  _ exceptionally  _ powerful. So powerful that…"

Arsene continues to drum his claws. He looks into those curious, deep garnet eyes; rage, hatred, loss of innocence, all burn bright. Arsene would give it three days, a week at most, before Akechi wakes up one morning and sees the beast he'd become.

Arsene could save Akechi.

But… he also doesn't  _ have  _ to.

Akechi isn't special, in the end. Interesting, and with a powerful soul, but there are so many humans littering the planet that if Arsene actively searched, he'd find another one exactly like Akechi. The creature is sure of that much.

"You don't need to sell me your soul, just to make them suffer," Arsene says.

Akechi tilts his head in interest. "How so?"

The human had made his choice long ago, unfortunately. He was a child then to be sure, but he still made it and there's no turning back for him. There are only two outcomes left for him now; contract a demon and be sent to the void or transfigure into something else entirely.

That's certainly another way of looking at it; giving the human a proper choice for once. Arsene knows he would refuse in a heartbeat, once he knows what he's capable of. Arsene does his best to keep himself from making the choice  _ for  _ the human, like so many others did. After everything, Akechi deserves that much.

"Your soul calls upon a curse to this moment; an ancient curse that can achieve feats by will alone. But in doing so, you sell your soul to vengeance instead of the void, and you'll forever be changed by it."

"You mean I'll turn into something like you?"

Arsene drums his claws. "Yes."

"Okay," Akechi says. Then after only a beat: "Will you do it then?"

Arsene stops. 

"Excuse me?"

"My request. Will you accept it?”

The whiplash startles Arsene and he's left mute. He moves to speak, but then he sees it, underneath burning flame; the exhaustion. The desire to  _ rest,  _ to let the anger simmer out one day, without repercussion. The desire for peace from himself.

“Very well,” Arsene says. 

The creature offers his clawed hand and Akechi takes it without hesitation. Blue flames wrap around their hands, not burning but certainly binding. In that instant, Arsene feels Akechi’s soul, all his emotions, all his rage, all his despair, all his fatigue, and Arsene understands every single bit of it.

Akechi had always known there’s nothing left afterwards.

* * *

The list is  _ long _ .

Arsene doesn't make a comment on it, not even when Akechi clearly expects him to. Instead, Arsene goes about planning this systematically. The creature counts the names— _ one, two, three, four, five... _ —and groups them into days of the week, starting from the bottom.

The names aren't so important to Arsene; he remembers only so he can forget after locating them. Then he makes a plan and then schedules a day; but Akechi mutely rearranges them except for the very first name on the list: Masayoshi Shido, who gets his own day.

Arsene doesn't question it. In this arrangement, Arsene isn't supposed to question much.

Akechi's request is simple: for Arsene to take him to the targets, incapacitate them, and protect him while he had his way. It's less Arsene getting revenge in his place, but more being an overqualified assistant. Not a strange request by any means, but the number of people he aims to _ torture _ to death is… certainly different. There aren't a lot of humans willing to do something so gruesome so many times. Then again, not many humans are willing to spend at least two to three years painstakingly growing coffee beans and vegetables in a seventh floor apartment for a mere chance at revenge. Most of Arsene's clients didn't dedicate themselves that much, opting to steal some from actual, hardworking farmers and trying to fool the otherworldly creature.

It never works; there's a way to tell if it's store bought, far, far away from where it came, or from the neighbor on the next street over. Though all it really does is give Arsene a fairly accurate impression of a client at a glance. If they can't be bothered to properly sow, then Arsene doesn't have a reason to dedicate himself either.

Which makes Akechi so special. He'd cultivated his hatred to a terrifying degree, and Arsene can't help but stay by his side. It's what he deserves, after all; someone to stay with him.

Akechi planned the week almost single handedly. The first day is dedicated to the first group of names, assigned a location and then a torture method. When he sees the first day on their calendar having an entire  _ yakuza _ group, a building, and the words  _ burn to death  _ written, Arsene knows none of this is going to be pretty.

It doesn't take long for Arsene to find them.

Akechi buys gallons of petrol, then with Arsene's help, sneaks in and pours it on every flammable surface he can find. When they encounter people, Arsene appears with a flick of his pitch black wings and in the flurry of confusion, incapacitates them. Akechi doesn't even tie them up, only dousing them in gasoline. The pattern goes on, and when every member is dripping with gasoline, either unconscious or just coming to, Arsene wraps a secure arm around Akechi's waist and teleports them outside, where Akechi jumps out of the creature's hold to throw as much gasoline as he can on the wooden parts outside.

With nothing left to do, Arsene snaps his fingers and the gasoline ignites, lighting the trail into the building and quickly engulfing everything. The building becomes a giant torch against the darkening sky.

The screams start soon after. Particularly hardened  _ yakuza _ members manage to escape, only to be incapacitated by Arsene. Some shoot blindly at him and Akechi, but Arsene merely uses his wings as a shield. They watch the bodies soon crumple to the floor with dying screams, bleeding and charring until they stop moving. The flames continue to eat at the skin and muscle until bones peek through.

They escape to a building farther away as the firefighters arrive, out of sight but in the front row. Akechi watches it all, watches them try to put out demonic fire. He watches them try to save the escaped  _ yakuza _ from burning to a crisp, their flesh blackened and peeling to reveal pink meat perfect for roasting.

Akechi watches it all, enraptured. The air smells like burnt pork. The building collapses. There's still screaming.

The firefighters point a hose at the flames, trying to get it to stop, as more people crawl out only to stop moving altogether, mangled and black; eyes gone and limbs falling off, skin and meat burnt until white bony nubs are visible. Soon, they douse the buildings next to the flames, realizing they can only wait out the fire. 

More people crawl out, burnt and unrecognizable, peeling black leather and stiff like mannequins. The firefighters try to save the blackened bodies, but there's nothing; their hands only come away with flakes of black tissue. The bystanders watch like Akechi and Arsene do. Someone vomits. Someone cries. Most stay silent, too stunned to connect the scene to reality.

The screaming eventually stops. The fire dies down. The building is charred. The bodies are unrecognizable. The sky brightens with the dawn of a new day.

Arsene and Akechi leave.

* * *

"Barbecue?"

Akechi has a skewer dripping with thick sauce in a hand outstretched to Arsene, an identical skewer in his other. Arsene takes the offer wordlessly and his mask splits open like a mouth; his giant tentacle-like tongue slithers out against rows upon rows of teeth and it wraps around the skewer. His tongue pulls the skewer into his maw and he swallows it whole. Arsene's mouth snaps shut like a bear trap and the mask is repaired, like it hadn't split open at all.

Akechi doesn't seem fazed. In fact, Akechi laughs a little behind a hand, red eyes glittering with innocent mirth.

"I'm guessing you liked that."

Arsene hums in agreement, though his brow is arched at Akechi’s casual demeanor. He pushes the thought aside and looks back down at the map spread on the table, marking out the next round of people. "What's next?"

"Water torture!" Akechi smiles brightly around his stick of barbecue.

What an adorable and depraved human. Arsene can't help the mix of emotions fluttering in his chest, from genuine amusement to disturbance. "Water torture, you say?"

Akechi grins, nodding enthusiastically. He seems giddy and restless and Arsene pretends it isn't from burning people to death, instead focusing on the way his nose crinkles and the way his smile reveals a pair of dimples.

"What's the plan?"

So cute.

"I'm thinking we should make them drink water until their stomachs bloat and then hit them with a bat."

So demented.

"Where do we do this?"

Akechi stands from his desk chair and walks closer to Arsene. He takes a thumbtack from a box and marks out a location by a beach, a long way from where they are now. "There's an abandoned building  _ right _ here."

"That's quite far, don't you think?" Arsene traces a line from where they are to the thumbtack. A hundred kilometers away. "Abandoned would also mean no plumbing. Water torture would be  _ harder  _ there."

"Still, I want to do it here."

Arsene studies the area; it's nowhere near the locations of the people they'd have to kidnap. The distance isn't so bad, not with the ability to teleport, but it's an odd choice. Why so far away? Why an  _ abandoned  _ building? Why not a butcher's place past working hours, like the one on the outskirts of the city?

Akechi doesn't give anything away, simply remaining quiet, looking to Arsene with hopeful eyes. Why does it matter so much? Does the location have some kind of significance Arsene isn't seeing?

Arsene decides not to question it.

The process of kidnapping five members from the same  _ yakuza _ is as boring as it sounds; none of them put up a decent fight and they crumble almost instantly, especially considering the fact that their support system had literally burned to the ground. Arsene and Akechi go to the abandoned building in a burst of human-friendly fire and Akechi ties each of them to a pillar, attaches tubes to their mouths with duct tape and blindfolds them.

The logistics of getting water is much more complicated than need be, but it gives them time to talk. They go about filling five liter containers with the dirty, bug infested water of one of the stagnant rivers in Tokyo, both rendered invisible to passers-by. As they work, Arsene asks what these people did to warrant a different punishment; Akechi gives a hollow smile as he submerges a container into the water.

They tried to kill him, Akechi says. They nearly did too, but Akechi survived their torment, their knife wounds and cigarette burns and being tossed into the river. Somehow, against all odds, he survived. Akechi doesn’t speak of the human kindness he must have been shown if he survived, but Arsene doesn’t blame him. Instead, Arsene asks: "So, water torture because of the river?"

"It's poetic, isn't it? They dumped my body into a river, and now…" Akechi smiles politely at Arsene, "they're going to drink the river."

"It's not enough to just do what they did?"

The human stays quiet for a while, capping the jug and staring off in thought. He has an unreadable look, garnet eyes unfocused and half lidded. For a moment, Arsene sees the hatred again; the raw anger that drew Arsene in the first place. Then it gives way to fatigue and melancholy.

"Arsene," Akechi says, voice light and airy, "do you really think revenge is about getting even?"

Hellfire.

Every building ablaze, every shrub reduced to ashes, every person eerily mute.

Arsene, at the center of it all, looking up at the burning sky. His mask splits open and a guttural roar leaves his throat as blue fire engulfs him—

"It never is," Arsene concedes.

Suddenly, he feels a warmth on his bicep. Long, gloved fingers lay against the crimson of his bolero, lending a comforting presence Arsene hadn't had in a while. It awakens in him a deep, dark sense of loneliness, cold like ice around his heart. It's not a new feeling, but it's something that catches him off guard every time. Though, seeing Akechi softly smile at him with understanding eyes, the feeling is eased somewhat, and Arsene can only smile back with his own flaming grin.

* * *

They go back to the abandoned building. By now, the sun had set and the gang members slowly come to. They turn on an emergency light at the captives, and one by one Akechi takes out their blindfolds only to replace it with a clothespin on the nose. He smiles at all of them, bright and beautiful, almost shining amidst their fearful and confused stares. Meanwhile, Arsene hides away in the darkness, watching Akechi stride to a rather pudgy yet muscular man. 

The man's arms are pulled back to an extreme angle, hugging the pillar backwards so his wrists could be tied together, keeping him in place. The man glares at Akechi and muffled curses slip out through the tube. Akechi pays it no mind and looks at Arsene. "I need your help."

Arsene nods and, with flare, jumps from his spot simply to land gracefully by Akechi's side, wings spread like a vulture descending on a dying animal. The fear is renewed, maybe more so, as the rest of them struggle in a panic. Akechi only smiles cruelly as he attaches the other end of the tube to one of the containers of water with duct tape.

The first one must know what's to come because his eyes widen in fear. The container is mostly transparent, and so the filth in the water is front and center. In the bright, artificial light of an emergency lamp, Arsene can see all the dirt, the tiny bugs, even the feces, just swimming through the brown water like snowflakes in a snowglobe. The man surely sees it too, as he begins to put all his energy into thrashing against his restraints. 

Akechi gives Arsene a cute little pout. Arsene, getting the idea, nods and holds the man's face still, making him watch. Claws dig into the flesh of the cheeks as the man struggles, only stopping when Arsene's claws finally draw blood. Akechi chuckles and his expression morphs into something almost inhuman and cruel.

"Do you know why I'm doing this?"

The man can't move beyond frantically shaking his head, more words rendered incomprehensible by the tube keeping his mouth open. Tears prickle the corner of his eyes as he keeps shaking his head. Arsene thinks he hears "I'm sorry".

If Akechi hears it too, he doesn't react, simply tipping the container. Water quickly rushes through the tube and into the man's mouth. His screams are replaced by gurgles. The Adam's apple bobs up and down, interrupted by the man gagging and trying to vomit. Akechi doesn't give him the chance; the tube remains in an upward curve and the container is still tipped, almost perpendicular to the ground. At some point the man gives up and focuses on trying to stay alive, swallowing the water like a parched man. Tears begin to run down his cheeks, over Arsene’s claws, but whether it's from the septic water or from emotion, Arsene isn't sure.

"Do you know how much liquid a human stomach can hold?" Akechi asks conversationally. No one answers, instead the other four people in the room say muffled words that go nowhere. Arsene watches the filthy water bubble as little air escapes the man before rushing down the tube again. It’s past the halfway point of the container.

“Arsene, do you know?”

Arsene startles. To his surprise, Akechi is staring at him expectantly. “.... No?”

"Well, it's four liters.” Akechi gives Arsene a lovely smile. “The neat thing about the human body is that it has defense mechanisms for that. It makes you vomit when you're close to the limit."

As if on cue, the man begins violently retching amidst large gulps of stagnant water and vomit. Akechi keeps the container overturned, forcing the man to drink the vomit too. Arsene’s claws start digging holes into the cheeks with the force of keeping his mouth open. 

"It keeps you from rupturing your stomach."

The man struggles again, more muffled screaming. He tries simply to not swallow, but his instinctive need for air causes him to gasp and swallow more contaminated water. The force of his thrashing dislocates his strained shoulders.

"But if you fill it fast enough…"

The container is empty now, most of the remaining liquid slowly going down the tube. The man consistently tries to vomit amidst gurgled screams, but it's too much, and then… he stops moving.

Akechi drops the container. “It ruptures anyway.”

Arsene lets go of the man's jaw. His head hangs lifelessly. The rest begin their struggle anew, some glaring and yelling incoherently, others cowering and frantically shaking their heads.

The rest are tortured similarly, forced to drink filth and bile. Akechi talks casually, like he's simply doing some chores with Arsene. At some point they dislocate their jaws instead of having Arsene perpetually crouched. Akechi gets creative too, stopping halfway through emptying the container to deliver sharp kicks to the targets' abdomens. They vomit down the tube, mixing with the filthy water, only for Akechi to raise the container and make them drink it back.

It's disgusting and horrendous; but through it all, Akechi smiles. Unlike when they burned the entirety of the _yakuza _to near ashes, Akechi is _explicitly _happy this time. He's having _fun _tormenting these people to death. Arsene can't help but feel a little sick, but at the same time… 

They're different. Arsene doesn't particularly enjoy carrying out torture or killing people; at this point there's simply nothing else for him to do. He's read books, he's observed people, he's ventured far and wide for knowledge, but at some point everything just starts being the same. There's a lot of things to learn, but not everything interests Arsene. There's things to do, but eventually those things lose their novelty.

Arsene has been alive for so, so long. At some point, humans just stop… being interesting. He  _ wishes  _ it wasn't so, but he can't help the way his humanity erodes. At some point, killing like this is  _ okay. _

But even then, Arsene doesn't  _ enjoy  _ it. Especially not before, when—

They're really, really different. But listening to Akechi, his story, about how these people took advantage of him instead of ever giving him a chance to be a proper human being, Arsene can't help but empathize more with him.

Eventually, Akechi finishes. 

None of them move. Their guts are bloated, but they sickeningly deflate over time as their stomach slowly empties the fluid into their bloodstream. Some of them leak urine.

Akechi turns to Arsene. "We're done here."

Arsene nods and snaps his fingers. Their bodies are set aflame, left to char until their cadavers are unrecognizable. They walk away from the building and Akechi stretches in the rising sun. His long sleeved button down rides up his body, exposing a pale ring of skin. It's scarred, Arsene can see, and his heart aches for Akechi.

Akechi looks over his shoulder, grinning wide enough that his dimples show and his eyes shine with mischief. "Let's go swim."

Arsene flexes his wings. "Is that why you wanted to go here?"

The human gives a bashful smile and nods. "I figured that… since this is my last few days alive, I might as well try to do the things I didn't get to."

Fair enough, Arsene thinks. Cloaked with magic, they go to the beach and immediately Akechi unbuttons his shirt and slips out of his pants, already in rumpled swim trunks. Arsene quirks a brow. Do humans wear swim trunks underneath dress pants?

It doesn't matter. Arsene forgets the asinine detail when the human takes off his shirt, revealing the numerous scars along his back, all burns or long knife wounds. Without thinking, Arsene reaches a clawed hand to his milky skin, tracing a particularly long slash. Akechi freezes under his light touch, but doesn't seem to hate it.

"It's ugly, isn't it?"

Arsene pulls away. "I don't care about that."

There’s a small laugh. "I'm glad." 

Where is this going?

Akechi looks over his shoulder and smiles at Arsene. "Can you go into the water?"

"Of course I can." For effect, Arsene jumps with a beat of his wings and lands in the water. Absolutely nothing happens and Arsene can't help a small, low chuckle. "See?"

Akechi grins and runs to join him in the water, even splashing Arsene like he was just any other human. Arsene returns it in kind with his wings, and Akechi laughs, bright and uncaring, and Arsene can't help but realize how lovely it sounds.

The mere act of wading into the water, of just splashing water on another sentient being, is enough to awaken something more lighthearted and mischievous in Arsene. A feeling he’d long, long forgotten in the centuries he’d roamed the Earth, aimless.

In that time, Arsene had gone to many, many beaches, drawn to them somehow. He'd seen many that have soon been ruined by pollution or need for modernization. He'd watched Tokyo build their city on rivers, watched the soldiers invade the shores of other countries, watched the nuclear waste wash into the sea…

Arsene hasn't had much fun watching the many ways humanity has found to harm each other. There's good in the world, but Arsene can't help but linger on all the  _ bad.  _ Watching the world build up and then erode again and again was depressing; beaches were reminders of that, as they get smaller and smaller with time, as fisherfolk waste away, as their food source becomes poisonous.

But with Akechi smiling so sweetly, having  _ fun _ like he should for once, Arsene forgets it all. A strange client, to be sure. Not everyone can cozy up to a creature such as Arsene. It's true he isn't the most intimidating of their kind, but he isn't exactly the most approachable either.

Though, Akechi is an exception. Akechi is depraved and disturbed in  _ so  _ many ways that he can approach Arsene in the water and run his fingers over the downy, raven feathers of Arsene's wings. In return, Arsene lightly runs a clawed finger down Akechi's neck and shoulder, eyes taking in every scar visible on milky skin as he does his beautiful visage. Akechi lets him, his own red eyes locked on Arsene.

Tension. Arsene flexes his wings and has them encircle Akechi; folds them in, draws Akechi closer, and Akechi lets it happen. Arsene even crouches to the human, just so they can see eye to eye. Warm hands touch the sides of Arsene's mask, draw the creature closer—

Arsene straightens, much to Akechi's visible disappointment. Instead, Arsene rests a claw on the human's lips. "You must be very lonely."

Akechi gives a knowing grin. "I could say the same about you."

Arsene is  _ much  _ taller than Akechi; the human barely reaches his chest, has little to no chance against Arsene. Yet the human is cocky and brash with him, speaking as if they’re equals. And in many ways, they  _ are  _ equals. Even now, Arsene can feel the energy from Akechi’s soul, almost identical to many ‘newborns’ of his kind.

But regardless of all that, Arsene knows that’s not why he doesn’t mind Akechi’s arrogance.

The water is cool around their legs; for Arsene, it reaches a bit above his knees, for Akechi it reaches his waist. There’s the barest touch of a wave caressing them. The sun climbs over the horizon and a watercolor splatter of reds, oranges and yellows paint the sky. Akechi is so, so small; small enough that his hand alone is enough to hold the back of his head. So small, that Arsene has to lean down to let the human press a soft pair of lips to his mask.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: saw some typos and cringed so hard into myself I had to fix it.

They don't speak about what happened when they get back; not even their actions hint at anything out of the ordinary. Arsene considers stepping out for a moment to make good on his other contracts like usual, but decides against it. Though young, Akechi has too many enemies to be left alone.

And _ maybe _ he doesn't really _ care _either. What are his clients going to do; be passive aggressive with him? Stop speaking cordially with him? Talk to another of his kind and contract them instead? There’s literally no meaningful consequence to abandoning his other contracts.

So, Arsene stays.

They go back to the human's apartment and Akechi falls asleep immediately; because of course he would, having been up for nearly a full twenty-four hours. Arsene barely has time to gently coax the human into cleaner clothes before Akechi curls up under the blankets and drifts away.

Unable to help it, Arsene runs clawed fingers through the human's hair. There's salt in between the strands and Arsene considers coaxing him into a bath as well, once he wakes up. Perhaps cook another meal while Akechi bathes; and while he's at it, Arsene might as well switch out the bedsheets to get rid of the salt. After that, they can sit down and plan their next move, once the human is comfortable.

Arsene keeps running fingers through the human's hair, watching the strands slip between his claws. It's a feeling that's both alien and familiar; like he'd done something like this but in a vastly different context. When was the last time he’d been intimate like this with anyone? When was the last time a human hadn’t stayed away? When was the last time a conscious being didn't recoil from his touch? He doesn’t remember anything, and if it's happened, it's certainly never been so quick.

It’s difficult for him to pull away after so long without intimate touch. It doesn’t help that Akechi, even while sleeping, seems to like it. Still, Arsene gives the human space and instead goes around the apartment, wings folded tightly to be able to navigate through. His hips are wide though—maybe because as a human he had wide hips, who knows—and every time he bumps into something or makes noise, he freezes and looks over at Akechi, watching intently in case the human wakes before resuming his cautious venture.

There’s not a lot in the apartment, although it’s not immaculate either; there are enough traces of Akechi that Arsene gets the picture that he _ stays _ here but not that he _ lives _here. It's as if Akechi has too many things to do; or that he’s had to move too many times to meaningfully fill the spaces he inhabits. His closet is on one end of the room without even a mirror; his desk is bare except for a pencil holder and a few pens and papers strewn about. The windows are closed and the blinds drawn, except for one with only half drawn blinds and few potted succulents on the windowsill. The bed Akechi lays in is a rather spacious full-sized bed, but it's easy to tell the sheets are old, having seen multiple changes throughout the years. Everything around the apartment is somehow old and worn but bland and lacking character, existing merely to house a fugitive.

Arsene finds himself feeling sorry for the young man. The world truly is cruel; and deep down, Arsene gets the feeling he used to be in a similar situation.

How many years, decades, _ centuries _ had it been since he woke up this way? Truth be told, he can't remember why he became the demon he is now; he only knows _ something _had happened. The details escape him, frustratingly slipping through his claws no matter how many times he grasps for them, longing for the time he can finally hold in his hands some semblance of reminiscence. He can't remember much of anything about his life anymore, but he knows it was a long, long time ago. Arsene wonders if he ever remembered since waking up. There's bits and pieces that float around in his mind, something old and void of hatred, but whenever he tries to reach for them they float away past the tips of his claws. 

However, this time when Arsene reaches out, it's quicker and something snags in his clawed digits.

It's an old, old memory. He can't pinpoint when it happened but he sees people around him—close to him. He can't see their faces, blurred with time, but he can feel their smiles and their laughter and their _ love _. It's morning, like it is now. Their feet bury into the sand and the waves lick at their ankles. It's wet and it's warm and devoid of hurt or anger. It's pleasant in a way Arsene hasn't felt in a long time. His creature-heart seizes, both a mix of happiness and… sorrow. Deep sorrow that soon overtakes what light there is and Arsene feels the bitterness once again close over him, freezing his dull heart and snuffing out what little warmth he had in that moment. The memory fades at the edges, more and more, until it envelops everything and Arsene is only left with a snippet of whatever his old life was. He feels something horrible, something like a swelling in his throat and a pressure in his head, and he realizes he wants to cry in a mix of emotions—from sorrow to frustration—but lacks the physical capability to.

Whoever those people were, he missed them—still misses them. They were precious to him—and yet, he can't remember anything about them anymore.

"Arsene…?"

Arsene turns around and sees Akechi, propped up by one hand as the other stifles a yawn. His heart melts a little and his anguish is calmed, seeing this disheveled human.

"You're awake already?"

"I guess I'm excited." Akechi smiles at him, exhausted, pulled thin at the edges. "And maybe I don't like the salt in my hair."

"You should bathe."

"Bathe with me."

"Excuse me?"

The other chuckles as he stretches his arms out to Arsene, like a child asking to be carried. "Bathe with me."

Akechi must have some sort of power, as Arsene soon finds his arms full of the sleepy human. Akechi looks up at him and smiles, then lays against Arsene's shoulder, snuggling like a cat. Arsene lets it happen as they move to the bathroom. The bathroom is quite small for Arsene, the ceiling already rubbing against his tophat and making him bend a little. The dulled knife-heels he wears scuff against the tiles. "I won't fit in your bathtub," Arsene says, half lying.

"You can wash my back." Akechi runs fingers down Arsene's chest. "And maybe some other areas, if you like."

Admittedly tempting, but Arsene makes no comment. He simply sets Akechi down. "No thank you."

Akechi takes this in stride, turning around and stripping right in front of Arsene. The creature watches the human throw off his shirt, more intrigued than anything, waiting for what Akechi intends to do while his eyes roam over scarred milk skin—scarred skin that lends a unique texture in the story it tells. Akechi's body is well toned and graceful, his muscles a humble curve along his arms and his back, which dips tantalizingly. Akechi bends over as he slips off his pants and underwear, unabashedly showing off every intimate part of himself. Arsene, for the most part, is simply curious.

Akechi is certainly attractive in a symmetrical, strictly geometric sense; but as pleasing to the eyes as he is, he doesn't evoke lust in Arsene; through no fault of his own, of course. Arsene had simply lost his human-like lust to the time he'd spent roaming the world, no longer capable of being overtaken by some primordial instinct to fuck. Arsene, therefore, does nothing, and Akechi watches in palpable disappointment when Arsene doesn't pounce on him like he hoped. The human looks almost _ hurt _from it and Arsene almost apologizes for not doing so promptly.

"Well, if you're not going to do anything, you can just leave," Akechi says tersely.

"Would you like some food?"

"Out."

Arsene stands straight before taking a deep, gentlemanly bow that the human ignores, bending over the bathtub and turning on the faucet to fill it instead. The creature doesn't take it to heart, having a vague idea of what the human could be thinking, and goes back out to cook for Akechi. By the time Akechi gets out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel and wearing absolutely nothing else, Arsene had already set the table and served a heaping bowl of ramen. Akechi gives it a passing glance before going to his closet and pulling out some clothes. "You didn't have to cook."

Arsene lights a fire below the ceramic bowl to keep the soup warm. "I have nothing else to do."

"Don't you have other contracts to fulfill?"

"I have very little to lose if I don't go through with them."

"You have very little to lose if you leave me alone to fulfill those."

"I might lose you."

Akechi pauses in wearing his gray sweater, smiling somewhat. He pulls it down fully, hiding most of his frame and ending halfway down his bare thighs. "Is my soul that precious?"

"Yes."

A dulled, knowing and resigned quality takes residence in his eyes. "So you only really want me for my soul?"

Arsene doesn't answer that, instead fixing the human with an expectant look and then gesturing to the bowl of _ ramen _. Akechi doesn't ask further and takes a seat at the table, picks up the chopsticks and thanks Arsene softly for the food. Arsene hums as he cleans the pots and bowls he used before, setting them in a rack and lighting a soft fire under the ceramic to help it dry. Akechi doesn't speak as he eats but Arsene can see the way the human enjoys his food in a silently begrudging yet thankful manner—somehow. By the time Akechi is finished, Arsene has already put away the dried dishes and cleaned the countertop.

"Thank you," Akechi says as he takes the bowl to the sink. Automatically, Arsene begins washing it, careful that his claws don't scratch the bowl. "You didn't have to do any of this."

Arsene doesn't say that he wants to nor that maybe Akechi wants him to as well, judging by the lack of protests. The creature can hardly begin to understand the need to dote, to care and protect this human; much less relay the complex, interweaving feelings that escape his grasp. No, instead, he says: "who are the next victims?"

Akechi pauses, caught off guard by the deflection and the nature of it. His expression is tense for a split second before it relaxes into something dead. "Ah… right. I suppose we should get to that."

He watches the human for a moment, who stares into the sink before walking back to the table to set it up. Akechi is slower and much less enthusiastic; there's a dulled quality to his movements that give his previous actions a new meaning. Arsene takes note of all of it.

* * *

The next batch of victims are public officials at different levels and branches of government. Arsene doesn't ask what they did to merit torture. It isn't as important as figuring out the logistics of their next mission—so Arsene turns his attention to that. Again, they find an abandoned building; the one they pick this time is an old, abandoned hospital in a rural area barely inhabited by anyone. Taking note of the exact location (and after Akechi puts on a more proper set of clothes), Arsene pulls Akechi close and teleports there. They scope out the area, from cluttered room to cluttered room, and prepare for the night.

Akechi's plan is simple: strap down the targets to tables and drive nails coated in feces through their joints. After that, cloth stuffed into their mouths and duct tape over it should be enough to keep them silent; so they can be locked in the basement morgue of the hospital, left to rot for however long it takes for them to die of septic shock or whatever else decides to take them. Bugs will come for them, gangrene will consume their flesh, bacteria will take over their bones and their blood, and it will be painful. Long, excruciating, and exactly what they deserve—so Akechi says.

Yet through it all, Akechi is significantly more quiet. His movements are less alive, not like a few days before; he goes through the motions of gathering the nails and dropping it into a stolen bucket of dog shit from a nearby shelter. He doesn't even complain about the smell, content to wear a flimsy face mask to keep out what it can as, with latex gloves, he carefully coats the nails and leaves them in a separate box. They don't speak to each other, and determining that no one would look in the underground morgue of an abandoned hospital for anything, Arsene goes about the round of kidnappings.

They're uninteresting for the most part; Arsene swoops in from nowhere to wherever the officials happen to be. As expected, they all have guards of some kind who scream and try to shoot when they see him, but to no avail. He simply knocks them out with a quick sleep spell and disappears. Doesn't matter if there are witnesses; who would believe a demon coming in to kidnap someone, anyway?

There's six of them. Kidnapping doesn't take Arsene even a minute each; stripping them of clothes before they can even wake up takes longer. He fastens their limbs to the stretchers of the table using cargo belts, making them spread flat against the metal table and incapable of much movement if at all. He stuffs their mouths full of scrap cloth to lock their jaws open before securing duct tape over it. Some of them wake up halfway and struggle against the restraints as they scream around the cloth, words and sounds mostly muffled. Meanwhile, Akechi is still crouched with his back facing them, dirtying the nails methodically and adding them to the stinking pile. The human doesn't react to the panic of the public officials, focused on coating the iron in filth.

By the time he finishes, they're either whimpering, crying, or both. Akechi takes the box of dirtied nails, puts it on an instrument trolley next to the hammer, and brings it to the first official while Arsene then takes his position at the end of the room, watching all of them carefully. They all struggle against the steel reinforced belts to no avail. No sign of them ever getting out of their shackles, so Arsene folds his wings and relaxes his shoulders.

"Do you know who this is, Arsene?"

Arsene looks at Akechi, who seems to smile underneath the mask. Arsene shakes his head and Akechi continues. "This is the director of SIU. I used to work for him." Akechi takes a nail and a hammer. The director is old and gray, wrinkled, with white hair and liver spots all over, all of which make him a truly pathetic sight when he begins to weakly fight against the suffocating grip of the cargo belts.

"What did you do?"

Akechi chuckles. "I used to be a detective. Before I became tightly involved with the _ yakuza, _that is." He looks over the old man, settling for starting with his hand. Around the cloth, the man makes noises that don't translate into words. Sweat, tears and snot mix together and drip down the sides of his wrinkly face; his eyes bulge with stress and his pupils dilate in an effort to focus on Akechi moving the nail to his hand. In a last effort of defiance, the man closes his fist to delay the inevitable.

Akechi tuts, a smile in his voice. The human that took such amusement in the suffering of those who wronged him was beginning to return and Arsene felt a coldness sweep over. Instead of forcing the fist open, Akechi simply positions the nail over the wrist and hammers down before any reaction was possible.

The old man lets out a muffled scream. His glasses go askew and he tries to yank his hand away uselessly. The pain forces the fist open and there, Akechi nails it right in the center of the palm. Yet another scream; yet more tears flow down his face. "He always hated me, the director." There's an indulgent tone to Akechi as he places his thumb over one of the nails. "Always making me do the low level shit, making me everyone's assistant…" his thumb presses down enough for the nail to eventually come out the other side. The director whimpers pathetically.

"I always hated him back. I always hated how little he respected me." Akechi takes another nail and lines it with the inside of his elbow. "He was always so _ condescending _."

Arsene can't help himself. "Does it merit this, though?"

Akechi hammers down, not quite strong enough to drive the nail through convincingly, but enough to get another muffled scream. The lack of strength seems more like a cruel and deliberate decision than a mistake. "I'm not exactly pure of heart," he says with such offhandedness, like they spoke of the weather. He hammers down again, and this time the nail breaks through the other side at an angle, no doubt scraping bone. "And this man has ordered me to kill in return for promotions; always held my crimes over me. Kept watching me. Tried to _ control _me."

Ah, so one of Shido's allies; one of the oligarchs that turned on Akechi—likely made him a fugitive when he used to be something close to a celebrity. Arsene looks over the rest of them; all stripped naked and vulnerable—absolutely pathetic and downright pitiful. "Did they all do that?"

Akechi shrugs as he takes another nail and lines it with the director's shoulder. He lightly hammers in the nail, careful to keep the nail in place as it slowly inches into the flesh. "To some extent, yes. These people are the most… _ frequent customers _ of my illegal 'services'. They all reported back to _ this _man, apparently."

When the nail is secure enough in the shoulder, Akechi hammers down full force. The director spasms and his screams reverberate inside his throat, unable to leave. Akechi chuckles.

"Well, enough about their sins," he says. "Why don't I talk about their punishment a little more?"

Arsene watches the rest of the targets; they all have eyes on the director and Akechi, dread clear in their eyes as tears fall from them; they all don't turn away, enraptured by the horrible sight, knowing it was to happen to them too. They try to speak, to beg or scream, but the balls of cloth jammed into their mouths prevent that spectacularly. 

Akechi laughs a little. "Oh, why am I still asking? Of course you'd want to know."

Akechi takes another nail as he goes to the other side of the director. "Do you want to know why I asked for dog shit specifically?" He drives it through the director's other wrist to the tune of his pain. "It's because you can find a lot of parasites in dog shit; and a lot of bacteria too. In fact, dog shit is _ incredibly _ toxic. It makes infecting wounds _ so _ much easier—" Again, another nail through the other palm "—and now, since they're through joints, they can reach the bones _ so much _faster, too." 

The human's smile is hidden, but the cruel joy in his voice makes it obvious. He takes a nail and drives it into the director's other elbow; and without waiting long, he hammers in another one into the shoulder. At this point, the director had stopped screaming, instead a shaking, whimpering mess. The others are not so well off. Their dread is palpable and their fearful resignation is made clear. Akechi drinks it all in, making eye contact with them but still talking like they weren't there. "I want to say that their demise is poetic, what with being eaten and decaying from the inside, but really… it's just one _ painful, torturous _ way to die."

"You did your research, huh?" Arsene asks.

"Yes. I've planned this for a long time since I decided to summon a demon to help me." Akechi turns to Arsene, eyes full of fondness. "I'm glad I ended up picking you; you're such a gentleman."

"I'm glad I picked you, too."

Akechi seems surprised by that but eventually his eyes take on a more softened quality and he laughs. He takes another nail and readies it over the director's hip. He hammers it in. "You're so sweet, Arsene. I wish you'd fuck me."

"Perhaps I will soon."

Akechi nearly drops the hammer at that. "What?"

Arsene doesn't clarify, instead his flaming smile widens some more, a little tentative. With the face mask, it's hard to tell what expression Akechi has, but Arsene can only assume it's a cute pout. "Explain to me," Akechi says.

"A mere suggestion, but you should concentrate first on your task. The longer we stay here, the more chances someone will find us."

A nail through the knee. "No one comes here except teenagers that are too scared to go into a morgue." He readies another nail at the director's ankle. "I want to talk with you."

Arsene flexes his wings and his eyes burn bright as he studies the human. "It will take longer if you talk to me while doing this."

"I'd rather have something else going on. It's boring otherwise."

"Boring." Arsene says it with a hint of disbelief.

"... Yes." The answer is unflinching only in tone.

The creature falls quiet as he studies the human paused over the director's ankle for a second too long before he hammers it in. Arsene gives a quiet sigh and summons another hammer into his hand from some nearby hardware store. "Let me help you, then."

Akechi looks at him. "I can handle it myself."

"It'll go by quicker if I help you. And you can talk to me while doing it."

"I want to do it!"

"I thought you said it was boring?"

Akechi goes quiet and looks away. His hands are tightened into fists. Denial, Arsene thinks, so he tries another approach: "I'd like to try my hand at it, I don't want to keep watching only."

The human looks at Arsene for a moment; then he looks at the director's body with nails through the joints. Then finally, he sighs and pushes the instrument trolley to a stop between them. 

"Okay."

Work goes by quickly from then, interspersed with conversation. In that time, Arsene finds out exactly what Akechi had to do for these people. There were a number of murders looking like accidents, a lot of blackmail and ruining families and people's lives, and in exchange—a lot of money. Money that, by the end, was drained from his account anyway. Akechi was quick enough to withdraw the maximum amount of cash possible before it was all gone, but it didn't help much. He had a common face, so he says, which makes petty crime and black market sales easy—but not by much. The _ yakuza _he was in had deep ties and either people refused him or ratted him out.

As Akechi talks at length about it all, hammering harder at key points that emphasize his emotions, Arsene pieces together how lonely he must have been through the years. From being surrounded by people who could use him to having no one at all; a whiplash of a change that still had some element of loneliness. It's pitiful, and Arsene can't help empathizing with the human. They're the same, after all.

How long has Arsene roamed this Earth, aimless, unable to connect with anyone? All the other creatures largely keep to themselves or… aren't company Arsene wants to keep. That isn't to say they're _ unpleasant, _but something keeps Arsene away from connecting with anyone. A bone-deep feeling that blocks Arsene from making meaningful connections—a feeling he's yet to find a name for, but for some reason disappears around this human, who won't stay for very long; not when there's plans to take his soul.

Why does Arsene want to take his soul, anyway? What point is there?

Acquiring souls is simply accumulating something arbitrary to make themselves feel better. Arsene rarely ever goes through with taking a person's soul regardless of the contract conditions, settling instead for energy, but this time… this time, Arsene can't help wanting _ this _soul, for whatever reason. Was it a petty need to collect something that interested him, like a thief?

He wants to believe it's a passing desire; that by the end of this contract, he'll go back on it and take Akechi's energy instead, like he always does. There's enough energy in Akechi to fill Arsene for a _ long _ time—fuel his magic beyond the minimum his body already provides—but Arsene knows deep down that it goes beyond petty _ wants. _There's something about Akechi's soul that reminds him of warm sand and cool waters, of laughter and love, of a simpler time when Arsene was young and bright-eyed and—

Hellfire. 

Blue flames rising into the darkened sky. A roar from his split mask, claws digging into the earth as tears fall and evaporate against burning hatred. Hatred. _ Hatred. _

The burning of a palace, of the servants and the guards—everyone, regardless of who, turned to ashes by will alone. His wings spread open and the flames burn brighter. His mask splits open and a guttural scream tears from his throat once more. Bodies lit aflame, the ground and the buildings charred; the plants crumple and blacken, the bodies of everyone around—

The _ yakuza _base, burnt too with his flame, everyone struggling to escape but failing miserably. The screams—and then the silence.

Was it a trigger?

Arsene's first memory of the world was one of seething hatred, but he can't for the life of him remember _ why. _ He lost something that day—no, he lost everything, he's sure—but he can't remember what _ everything _ was and why _ everything _ was important to him when he's lived centuries with _ nothing. _

He can't shake the feeling that Akechi is somehow connected, but that's not possible. In all his years of roaming, Arsene has never seen a repeat of faces. And yet, no one has ever evoked in him the same feeling Akechi now brings out in him and it makes _ no sense. _

_ But is it possible that I just never remember? _

Why is now so different?

"We're done."

Arsene hammers down one last final nail through the spine of some poor TV executive that screams. At some point, after finishing with their joints, Akechi had the bright idea of flipping them over and hammering in nails along their spines too. Excruciating, no doubt—they'd stopped screaming in pain after the tenth nail or so, but driving the infected steel into their spines forced their voices out once more. Akechi simply laughed at them before laying them back down and letting their weight bring in those nails deeper. Once again, they fastened their limbs to the stretchers of the metal tables.

Akechi scoops up piles of dogshit and starts spreading them over their abdomens, meticulously rubbing it in a fine, putrid layer. When done, Arsene pushes the bucket to the corner and they finally—finally—leave the morgue. Since it’s in the basement, there's only one entrance; and so they make sure to block that. With Arsene, it's incredibly easy to move in a collapsed wall over the entrance. No one would ever see those people again.

Akechi removes his gloves and face mask, discarding it in a far away room with all the other old, discarded hospital masks and gloves on the floor. "I need a bath."

"Again?"

"Yes." Akechi takes a hold of Arsene's sleeve. "Join me this time?"

Arsene stares at the human.

"I won't do anything funny."

Stare.

"I really won’t!”

A silent, continually unwavering stare—

Akechi pouts. “Please?”

* * *

_ This human has supernatural powers, _ Arsene thinks with amusement as he soon finds himself in the bathroom again, with Akechi happily stripping down in front of him. Arsene takes the liberty of filling in the bathtub while Akechi takes the showerhead from the stand and drenches himself in warm water. When Akechi shuts off the water and starts washing himself, Arsene shifts his claws into duller forms and tenderly washes the human’s hair and back with the shampoo and soap passed to him. It’s intimate in many ways Arsene is not entirely used to; but Akechi seems to like the careful ministrations, his movements slowing as he washes himself.

It’s not long before Akechi rinses himself off and moves to the bathtub, looking at Arsene expectantly. Caving to the human’s demands, Arsene shifts his form to be slightly smaller and steps inside as well, clothes and all. They both get comfortable, to some extent; Arsene is still a little big for the bathtub, and so his legs are bent at an angle and spread apart for Akechi to sit in between. Akechi laughs and gets comfortable against Arsene’s chest, happy like a child that got his candy.

“You’re very strange.” _ But not that strange. _

“That means I’m interesting, right?”

“You are.”

Akechi smiles up at him. “I’m glad, then.”

The human takes a deep breath and sinks a little into the water, leaning more on Arsene, almost snuggling the demon. Arsene tentatively wraps his arms around the other, testing to see if Akechi reacts negatively—which doesn’t happen. If anything Akechi seems pleased.

“Why are you so intent on getting me to bathe with you?”

“I’m hoping for something more, silly.”

_ There it is again. _“Why is that?”

Akechi doesn’t answer and instead shifts in Arsene’s hold. “Why don’t you explain what you meant earlier, like you said you would.”

Arsene plays dumb, smirking mischievously. “What did I say again?”

“That you might fuck me soon.”

“Did I? Oh my.”

“You did!”

A low, teasing chuckle. Akechi visibly gets flustered at the closeness of his voice and Arsene tightens his hold a little. His flaming eyes narrow into slits, mimicking a sultry look as he stares straight into Akechi's. “Perhaps I _ have _ been _ maybe _ thinking of pinning you against the wall and fucking you until you’re an incoherent mess.”

Arsene chuckles as Akechi straightens all of a sudden and gains a more flustered look. “O-oh… Well… There’s a wall right here… The apartment is full of walls…”

Akechi seems frozen in place, not quite looking at Arsene. The embarrassed pink dusting the human’s cheeks make for an adorable picture and Arsene can’t help a light, less flirtatious laugh. “Not yet, Akechi-kun.”

Again, Akechi looks at him and pouts but quite visibly relaxes in his hold. “Why not now?”

Instead of poking fun or being transparent of his personal speculations, Arsene rests his fingers softly over Akechi’s head. “It’s… not the time right now, I think.”

“When will the time be?”

Arsene thinks of how many days they have left. “Soon.”

“Ominous.”

“Don’t worry so much.”

“Well, if you’re not going to explain that, can you tell me more about yourself?”

_ Interesting. _“What do you want to know?”

Akechi thinks for a moment, sinking back against Arsene and getting comfortable. He stays quiet, evidently putting more thought into the question than Arsene felt is necessary. Still, Arsene waits until Akechi finally asks: “What do you need my soul for?”

The one question Arsene can’t really answer. Is it coincidence? Is it calculated? He can’t say, but the human looks at him expectantly and Arsene is caught between the truth or a generic answer. Arsene hums to fill the space until eventually, he settles on something in between: “It’s not strictly needed, however it’s desirable; something akin to how currency is for humans.”

“You exchange souls with other demons?”

“Not quite; they’re symbols of status,” Arsene says. “The more we have, the higher the status. Although we demons don’t really have any basic needs to hold hostage, so you could say participating in demon society, where status is made important, is unnecessary. And so, it’s not strictly needed.”

Akechi gets a more thoughtful look and he rests his head on Arsene’s chest. “How lucky." Akechi shifts again and runs his fingers over Arsene’s arms, as if fascinated by the shaped muscle underneath the bolero. “How exactly do you get a soul?”

“There are many ways.”

“Like?”

“Well…sex is one way.”

Suddenly, Akechi pulls away and Arsene lets go. “What?”

The demon tilts his head, confused at the angry look Akechi gives him. Cautiously, Arsene continues: “For a human to give their soul, it requires a level of trust and vulnerability from the human. Usually, that can be achieved with sex—”

Akechi stands and steps out of the bathtub, splashing water everywhere, then goes for the door. Arsene also gets out as fast as he can. “Akechi-kun?”

“Don’t even talk to me.” Akechi swings the door open.

“Akechi…!"

Before Akechi can get too far into the room, Arsene spreads his wings and closes them around the human, even going so far as to grab the human's wrist and keep him there. Akechi freezes, watching Arsene with an emotion he’s used to seeing from humans.

_ Fear. _

Arsene’s wings fold only a little. “The windows are open.”

Akechi looks around and catches sight of the windows, blinds retracted and daylight streaming right in; something he himself did when they got back. Across is another apartment building, with another set of windows open and someone moving around inside. Akechi visibly relaxes, hanging his head as Arsene uses tiny blue flames to get the blinds closed. “... Ever the gentleman,” he says softly.

When all the blinds are closed, Arsene folds his wings tight and steps away. Then he kneels down in front of the human so he comes off shorter, careful not to assert his power. “That was not the reaction I was expecting.”

“You didn’t tell me before the contract.”

“I don’t usually push through with it.” Arsene’s flaming eyes soften. “I rarely ever push through with taking someone’s soul.”

Akechi doesn’t seem satisfied. “You still didn’t tell me.”

“There are other ways to get them. I only started thinking of doing so when you were showing such interest in sexual relations with me.”

Somehow, that angers the human. “But you’re still only doing it for my soul! You’re still using me based on this stupid contract—deal—whatever it is! I thought—” Akechi hugs himself, expression conflicted. “I thought you actually saw this body and wanted something to do with it. I thought you thought I was beautiful and saw something more than what I’m made of. I thought—”

Akechi cuts himself off. It’s silent for a moment and Akechi sighs, shaky, and he sinks to the ground and covers his face. “What am I doing?”

Arsene spreads his wings again, gently and loosely wrapping Akechi in warmth. This part… This part Arsene anticipated. He carefully envelops the human in warmth, careful not to invade Akechi’s space either. He lights his hands on fire to gently warm the other. “You must be undergoing a lot of emotions. I’m free to listen—”

At that, Akechi stands up suddenly and heads to the closet. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re upset.”

Akechi pauses in getting clothes and his voice is quiet. “Not at you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand.”

Akechi nods vacantly. “You weren’t planning to use me like that from the beginning anyway, right? You’re a gentleman like that, aren’t you?” The human smiles a little as he brings out another set of clothes. “You didn’t know I explicitly wanted to look like something else other than a piece of meat. Something nice and soft and fuckable. You couldn’t have known.”

Arsene stays quiet, unable to find the words to say that he should have.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [me rn](https://gph.is/29fNZR0)

_ "Can you leave me alone for a moment?" _

Arsene was  _ not  _ thrilled at the idea, but Akechi gave him such a deep, pleading look that Arsene caved in and placed a strong protection spell over the human—and then he taught Akechi how to call him back immediately, which involved calling out through the soul. After getting a hang of it, Akechi gave a soft smile that was followed by a quiet "I'll call you back"—and with that, Arsene left.

Soaring above Tokyo, alone once again, Arsene has no choice but to reflect deeply on his own attachment to the human. It's embarrassingly obvious it goes beyond having a comforting presence, the longer Arsene stays; he can't pinpoint the feeling being with Akechi gives, seeming to take on many forms, but all having some root similarity he has yet to grasp. It doesn't quite make sense that this human is so special— _ so _ special that Arsene  _ still _ has not followed up on literally  _ anything else _ he has to do; from the lady he was supposed to help by  _ cucking  _ her own husband, to the abandoned little boy who was so desperate for a playmate that he summoned a demon. Arsene feels only a  _ little  _ terrible, pretty much abandoning them. Being with Akechi is somehow, some way, for  _ some  _ reason, more important.

The wisps of a memory dance in his mind, there's the scent of saltwater, the warmth of sand, the sound of boats rocking against the shore… Farther away, along the same shore he stands near are silhouettes of other people like him. Arsene stumbles at his own thought process—at the thought of  _ 'people like me'  _ when he doesn't even know what that means or what it  _ used  _ to mean. 

It doesn't matter in that moment; the people like him busy themselves with taking things out of small boats; they raise their hands and wave, then gesture to him. Arsene waves back, arm jarringly flesh and human. He says in a voice he knows that's his to wait a moment. He wades through the water, going closer, but their faces stay blurred. He moves faster, feet fighting against the water as he does. The edges of the memory fall away little by little and Arsene quickly grasps at what he can, chasing after it even if his feet sink into wet sand.  _ Please, please don't go away. _

Unlike the many times before, the memory holds still and morphs into something similar. He's on a pier now, watching his fellow men usher in another on a boat. With the man, a pile of fish, tangled in nets. A fisherman, Arsene realizes; he used to be a fisherman, living on the coast with… people he knew; people he spent time with; people he loved dearly.

There's the fleeting sense of love and happiness that is tinged with melancholy the more he thinks of the blank spots, but it doesn't change the fact that this is the most he's remembered at once. Perhaps, if he pushes, he'll keep remembering new things—and so, Arsene digs his claws into the memory, tries to force it into a new shape he'll hopefully recognize. It's a desperate plea for something other than the scant few things he can remember, but it's not enough. It's exactly like wet sand now, moldable but fragile, and it crumbles the harder Arsene tries to press it together. It keeps spilling from his hands, keeps flowing between his digits. 

Through it all he wonders:  _ Why can't I remember to begin with? _

Why are his memories like sand to begin with? What had happened to him? What had he lost?

The desperation turns to frustration. Arsene continues to force the wet sand into something, into some shape—but it only gets worse.

_ Why is my mind like this? _

The longer he tries to form a shape to his memories, the more he tries to grapple them and mold them into  _ something, anything,  _ the more the pain in his creature-heart intensifies. A stabbing pain that leaves him cold and alone, and Arsene realizes it's a profound grief.

_ But why? _

_ Because you lost everything that night. _

_ What? What did I lose that night? _

And by some miracle, for a moment, the sand holds still and forms something. Faces; many of them—clear and smiling at him. Laughing. He doesn't remember their names, but he remembers their laughter. Their smiles, their kind eyes, fill his mind. His friends, his family, and—

Akechi.

Arsene's heart seizes.  _ A past life. But how—? _

Akechi smiles at him, laughs with him under the cover of night, holds his face and kisses him. They whisper sweet words against each other's lips before meeting again in a soft kiss.

_ "I love you." _

_ Somehow, against all odds, I met him again— _

He laughs, hair in a small ponytail at the base, dressed in an expensive  _ haori  _ and  _ umanori hakama,  _ sword and scabbard strapped to his waist. A  _ samurai,  _ Arsene realizes. A  _ samurai _ and a fisherman; somehow, some way. Akechi goes in for one more kiss before he pulls away—

Hellfire. 

Burning flames rise into the night sky. A roar erupts from his split mask and his claws dig into the earth. His tears fall and evaporate against burning hatred. Hatred. Despair. Anger. The memories of the emotions he'd had then sharpen; they become clear and complex. They expand into interweaving fractal patterns that form a cohesive, overwhelming picture full of colors and pain—_so much pain—_

The feeling overtakes him and he has to let go for his own sanity. 

The bits and pieces fall from his fingers, the sand of his reminiscence is washed away. 

The feeling of grief that pains him fades into numbness, and—Arsene opens his eyes.

He stays perched on a skyscraper and looks over all of Tokyo with a deep sigh, watching the people flow through the city like water. The now; he has to focus on the now before he loses himself to the overwhelming flow of emotions. He can't do that again; he can't lose himself again—and somehow he  _ does  _ know it's happened before. Something to do with the night, the smell of burning, the sensation of his voice being pushed to the limit in a guttural scream; they all tie back to the chimera of feelings coiled around his demon heart, winding tighter and tighter, waiting for him to snap in two and fall mercy to his own instincts to set fire to the entire world. Somehow, the thought that the world needs to be burned down, to be purged of life, feels  _ justified. _

But he won't do that. Arsene has aged and seen the world; he knows quite well that revenge and justice aren't remotely the same. Revenge got him here and he's determined not to fall prey to it again.  _ Focus, Arsene. _

The present. The now. What is there? 

The people flow between buildings, disappear into and emerge from subways and cars, moving rhythmically with the heartbeat of the city. The sky is bright and mostly clear, with wisps of clouds and birds dotting the expanse of blue. It's somewhat cold; not quite winter but certainly getting there. The humans walk around with thick coats but still don't hide their faces in scarves. They all look different in similar ways, like they merely swapped out colors or an accessory or two; it’s as if they were meant to give the illusion of uniqueness. Yet somehow, they are; each one of them is built up from unique experience. Each one bears their own story, their own thoughts, their own visions of the future. Arsene knows, factually, that humans can and  _ are  _ kind.

And still—Akechi has his story, and his scars, and his empty smile. He stands in the rubble of his childhood, sweeps away the glass shards of his adolescence, and stares unflinchingly into the abyss of his future; all a consequence of how this world simply  _ is. _

Again, Arsene wants to reduce the world to ashes and he can't understand why or why his human gives him such raw, complex feelings. Is it from Akechi, or is it his own? 

It's never happened with him before, but it's certainly not unheard of. Carefully, Arsene holds one of the strings to Akechi's soul; the ones of fire, from when they struck a deal—to keep the soul bound to him and incapable of fusing with and metamorphosing the beautiful shell it resides in. It's as strong as ever, full of pent up anger yet still melancholic—then, there comes a tinge of fear and confusion; a new anxiety that boils beneath the surface; a repressed emotion—or maybe suppressed. And then longing, not as deep as Arsene's but profound in its own right. And then—a tug on Arsene's own creature heart from the other end of the fiery tethers. 

Akechi's pull is insistent but still reserved—as if to say it isn't necessary if he has more important things to do; which he does, though he wouldn't admit it. Neither would he admit that he would drop it all for this precious human.  _ His  _ precious human.

_ Is this a desire to protect him? Or…  _

It's feelings that extend far, far beyond the scope of their deal. Cooking, cleaning, even bathing with Akechi—all things Arsene has done before, but not as happily. He's had clients seek him for comfort after getting revenge, but Arsene has never felt so… _ willing  _ to give affection; so  _ willing  _ to extend himself. 

And yet, Arsene still wants his soul. It doesn't make sense, because if anything, wouldn't Arsene prefer him  _ alive?  _ What is this deep, growing desire for Akechi's soul? Where did it come from?  _ Why— _

_ Warm sand, cool waters, soft kisses and—  _

_ “I’m… sorry.” _

_ Bloody courtyards, burned buildings and dark nights— _

The tug continues to be insistent, but never increasing in urgency. Arsene’s heart flutters as he holds onto his end, sensing his human’s timid longing for the other. Does Akechi feel the same attachment he does? It’s a possibility that takes hold of Arsene and burrows into him, too far in for Arsene to dig back up and do away with for propriety’s sake. He can’t help basking in the thought that maybe, he isn’t the only one who feels a deep connection, despite everything. Maybe, by some miracle, Akechi  _ remembers— _ maybe even more than he does.

Arsene leaps from the skyscraper and takes flight, beating his wings to take him further into the skies as blue flame engulfs him. In an instant, he lands once again in Akechi’s apartment in a flash of blue. Akechi yelps in surprise and drops his phone. With a chuckle, Arsene picks it up and hands it over.

“You took your time,” Akechi says, taking back his phone. “What if I was in danger?”

“You would have called me more urgently.”

“What if I just wanted to die?”

“You wouldn’t have called me at all.” Arsene lightly runs a claw over Akechi’s cheek. ( _ Late night, the moon high in the sky; a kiss under the stars, under the cover of trees—) _ “Are you trying to make me worry about you?”

“Maybe.”

Arsene hums, looking over the human. Uncharacteristically, Akechi has on extremely casual clothes; a large shirt that doesn't show much and pajama pants. Arsene can't help the flirtatious smirk that spreads across his mask. “Then, should I be worried that you’re not even half naked in your own apartment?”

Akechi gives a light smile and flicks his mask affectionately before moving to the table, where everything Akechi needed to brief Arsene—because it’s apparent now that really, all Akechi needs is a supernatural assistant to make the plan he’d spent years on possible. Not that Arsene has any problems with that. 

Already, the relevant places have been marked with color coded thumbtacks and addresses. This time, the targets are fairly spread out compared to before, giving Arsene the impression that they're other agents of Shido's that focused more on prefectures outside Tokyo. Mayors, perhaps. Arsene isn't too sure of their political system here, but it doesn't quite matter to him—and neither does it matter to Akechi, it seems. 

Arsene plans a route like usual. The place to hold them in is a fairly isolated slaughterhouse that closes past 5pm and is completely vacated by 6pm, except for a single security guard. Timely, Akechi says, because by then the targets should be in their homes. The security guard will be knocked out with a sleep spell for however long it takes to finish. The targets, meanwhile, will be fitted with oxygen masks to make sure they don’t lose consciousness too fast, bound and gagged. They’ll be boiled to separate the skin muscle, and then they’ll then be splayed on butcher tables (to be modified) and slowly flayed until they bleed out, lose consciousness, die of hypothermia… there are many ways to die from it, evidently.

Arsene is…not thrilled at the idea. Flaying is too cruel a form of torture for anyone—with very few exceptions—including the person carrying it out. He’s no stranger to clients thinking of flaying their target; but more often than not they bail out halfway. In this day and age,  _ flaying  _ someone is simply too much and Arsene knows of  _ many  _ humans who have stated as such, never quite returning to their former selves. Tentatively, Arsene voices this concern; especially since there are so many targets. And given his human’s reactions thus far—

“I want to do it,” Akechi says.

“Let me do it for you—”

“I  _ said _ , I want to do it.”

Under normal circumstances, Arsene would cave in; but this time around… Arsene  _ knows  _ where this is leading and he can’t bear the thought of Akechi going down that road. As gently and coaxing as he can, Arsene says: “I must insist you rethink this, Akechi… It’s not going to be pretty.”

“I have.” Akechi doesn’t look at him, but his hands are curled into fists. “I’ve made my decision.”

Rage emanates from Akechi in waves, the burning hatred forming a thick miasma in the air. It solidifies around them and Arsene decides not to push it further. A mistake, but one Arsene is willing to deal with; after all, up until now he still wants to give Akechi as much freedom to choose to make up for lost time. Arsene nods once, understanding, but no less worried.

_ He’s always been this way. _

* * *

The air is thick with tension. Five targets are tied up and gagged with cloth balls, curled up on the bloodstained ground next to their oxygen tanks, shivering under the sterile lights of the slaughterhouse. They have no blindfolds, so they stare in terror, watching carefully and shivering like helpless calves as Akechi prepares the boiling bath to dunk them in. No one speaks, but Arsene watches all six attentively. His wings are folded, but he makes sure he stands tall; both to ease Akechi and to unnerve the rest.

Flames lick the bottom of the large, metal vat as water is poured in, hot enough that it begins simmering almost immediately. It seems to take forever before the water boils, with the only other sounds being the whimpering of the targets. 

Arsene looks over them; two women, three men—all scheduled to be flayed in a few moments.

It bothers Arsene that this isn’t the full list; a couple of the targets he’d gone after had already died, and one was a wrong address. They didn’t look like anyone high ranking either. They were middle class at best—not at all the type to use Akechi’s ‘services’, from what Arsene can tell. Meaning, these people are likely from  _ before  _ Akechi started doing seedy things for Shido. Old grudges, in other words—old grudges he never revisited, only let fester.

Water begins spilling over the sides of the vat. Arsene quickly shuts the tap and pulls Akechi away, before the human gets scalded. Akechi is definitely out of it, not even letting himself rest while there was still daylight, back in the apartment—now, he clutches the hose, water dripping onto his dress shoes, shocked out of his thoughts.

“... I’m sorry.” Akechi drops the hose. “I was… thinking.”

“Clearly.” Arsene ushers Akechi to the side. “I’ll boil them, you prepare everything else.”

Akechi nods, handing over an oxygen tank. “Make sure they don’t drown. Or get boiled alive.” The way he says it is airy, like he isn’t all present. It’s as if he was preoccupied with thoughts of something else.

“Of course.” There’s no point questioning it.

Arsene fixes the oxygen mask over the first one; a woman in her mid-forties or so. She puts up a bit of a fight, but with her bound and gagged, there’s not much she can do except squirm on the ground—a mild inconvenience when Arsene starts taping the mask to her, fixing it in place. He turns the valve on the oxygen tank before scooping her and the gas tank up. Then, without warning and with a firm grip on the oxygen tank, he drops her in.

The thrashing starts immediately. There’s no audible screaming from the woman, but her movements are visible underneath the boiling surface. She tries to push herself up, but Arsene pushes her all the way down, where her back meets the metal. More thrashing. The others start whimpering like dogs and squirming in an attempt to escape; one even starts pissing himself in sheer terror and Akechi, without so much as a snide comment, sprays him with the hose at full blast.

A couple of more seconds and Arsene brings the woman out; her skin is red and peeling with enormous blisters, like a grim pattern all over her body. Arsene lays her and the oxygen tank on one of the butcher tables and fastens her limbs down with the restraints they attached to the underside. Skin peels away from her and sticks to him as he works, though he pays it no mind; he simply focuses on restraining her completely for Akechi. It only takes a moment before the woman is spread on the table, wrists and ankles held apart. Arsene steps away and carefully starts scraping the skin off his clothes while Akechi snaps on some latex gloves, takes a knife, and flashes it to her despite the damage to her eyes.

It’s so quiet (barring, of course, the white noise made up by the snivelling of the targets), Arsene can’t help breaking the silence: “So, what did these people do to warrant…” Arsene gestures vaguely to everything, “this?”

Akechi smiles weakly at him, clearly fighting exhaustion. “Oh, this and that.” He turns back to the woman and begins a deep cut around the base of her neck. She jolts and thrashes against the restraints, but it’s weak and pathetic. “It’s not that important.”

The tone of his voice isn’t threatening, but it does make it clear that he does  _ not  _ want to talk about it. Arsene gets the message; he doesn’t prod, and instead asks: “Do you want me to boil the others too?”

Akechi hums for a moment as he slides the knife from her neck to her shoulders and slices up the length of her arm, only barely inconvenienced by the way the woman tries to jerk away. “They might die after you take them out and leave them.” Akechi seems annoyed by this though, so he holds it down. “We have time anyway; don’t we, Arsene?”

“We do,” he replies.

The woman begins crying from her milky eyes. Reddened, blistered flesh peel away from the knife as Akechi works. The blade reaches her forearm.

“Then let me take my time.”

Not a good idea, Arsene wants to say, but he knows Akechi doesn’t want to hear that. In fact, he’s sure Akechi  _ knows  _ it, but is too set down this road he’s chosen—like so many other humans Arsene has met and done deals with. Often, their regrets weigh them down so much that Arsene can’t help but pity them. They end up longing for death, even if Arsene chooses not to take their soul—because of course he can’t; by comparison he is compassionate—and so he takes their life force instead. A temporary boost in energy as opposed to the permanent increase in strength possessing another soul provides.

And—perhaps it worries him that this time, he feels the need to take Akechi’s soul, despite his usual stance; despite the knowledge he has now that reincarnation is possible. To possess it forever and make it his. To let Akechi rest permanently, with him—and only him. Forever.

_ Why is that? _

The feeling reaches deep into Arsene’s core. The burning desire to possess, to protect and—something. Something else that lingers from his old life. It's…ambivalent. A complex mix of festering emotions that have bubbled beneath the surface. They threaten to spill over.

_ Not now,  _ Arsene thinks.  _ You’re on duty. _

Akechi is at the waist now.

Arsene truly has spaced out it seems; perhaps the lack of conversation is why. Though the woman makes sounds, the cloth ball and oxygen mask make her despair much easier on the ears; and so it’s near silent between them. It’s a far cry from the water torture or the nailing, but it's identical to the burning of the  _ yakuza  _ base. Based on that pattern, Akechi's seesaw reactions and the human's dazed look outside of torture—perhaps Akechi isn't as prepared for any of this as he thought. 

The flesh dips under the pressure of the knife before splitting apart and spilling blood all over the table. It pools under the woman, who continues to sob around the wet cloth ball, and drips onto the floor in a huge puddle of red. A puddle Akechi has no qualms stepping in from time to time, as he carefully slices open the woman from her waist, to her thigh, to her calves. Akechi circles her ankle and slices up her leg. They all know what's coming, and despite the pain, the woman tenses up and thrashes again. From her damaged, milky eyes, she begins to sob.

Akechi tuts at her with the ghost of a smile. He proceeds without mercy, slashing across her labia, perhaps even running the blade over her clitoris. It doesn’t matter; the woman’s scream bubbles up even through the cloth gag and urine gushes out to join all the blood. Akechi steps away in time and watches the woman convulse before—her head hits the steel table and she abruptly goes limp. She still breathes, but is otherwise motionless; passed out from shock.

Akechi unceremoniously shuts the valve of the oxygen tank and slits her throat. He doesn’t mind the blood that sprays onto him. “The man, this time,” he says, pointing with the tip of the knife.

Arsene doesn’t question it and repeats the process; he restrains the human, straps on an oxygen mask, and drops the man into the vat of boiling water. As they wait, Akechi listlessly undoes the restraints on the carcass and pushes it over the table. It falls onto the floor with a wet slap and Arsene sees the rest of them cower.

Once the man is done boiling and the skin is an obvious, ugly red, Arsene takes the target and again straps him down to the table. Akechi works quicker this time. Though the knife is a touch more dull, Akechi forces it through skin, ripping it in places instead of clean cuts. He doesn't touch the genitalia as much, skimming over it instead to keep the man conscious. And lucky for the man, the nerve cells might have been a touch more boiled than Arsene intended. Still, the man thrashes in a vain attempt to get away (and only making Akechi's cuts more jagged) as he screams and cries enough that his voice goes hoarse. By the time Akechi reaches the other side of the neck, the man is still awake and a mess of tears.

The human smiles hollowly. "What you deserve," he says.

With only latex gloves, Akechi digs his fingers past the layers of skin around the neck, trying to grip it like a pelt. Arsene can see him struggle to get a firm grip on it; the man thrashes once more and blood gushes from the long cut around his body, intermingling with the blood already there and dripping more onto the carcass. The impressions of Akechi's fingers appear on the surface, and his grin betrays the fact that he'd gotten a proper hold. Without further warning, Akechi  _ pulls. _

It's excruciating, no doubt; the man certainly screams past the cloth gag, past the oxygen mask. Akechi pulls harder, and the layers of skin around his neck slowly but surely tear away from the muscle underneath. Akechi keeps pulling and pulling, only rarely resorting to the knife in favor of tearing everything away instead. The flesh slowly begins to look more like a blanket that had unnaturally merged with the man, and was now being salvaged by Akechi. It's pulled away, farther and farther, leaving behind a mess of red muscles and nerves all roughly torn from the layers. Tendons and ligaments clutch furiously at the skin, only to reach their limit and rip.

Akechi has barely flayed past the chest area. 

The skin around the man's shoulders begin to lift as Akechi continues to pull and lightly shear in places. The tendons try to chase the skin and pull it back; the man's arms lift with the force of it, only to slowly, bit by bit, fall back as the stubborn ligaments finally give up and tear apart. Through it all, the ambient sounds of the empty slaughterhouse and the pitiful whimpers of the other targets become drowned out by the despairing screams of the man. Akechi keeps going, keeps tearing the flesh from him with a low chuckle; it's when the skin has successfully been torn from the chest and upper arms that the man suddenly goes limp.

Akechi stops grinning; quick enough that Arsene can tell it's been forced. He doesn't say anything, however, and watches Akechi let go of the skin to feel for the man's breath. Nothing, Arsene has to assume, because Akechi points again with the knife. "That guy, with the stupid bowlcut."

It's the man who pissed himself, Arsene notes impassively. This man immediately thrashes around like mad—more than the last two—and Arsene has a harder time getting the oxygen mask on. He squirms away, angling his head away to the best of his abilities and Arsene takes his time approaching with the oxygen tank and duct tape. The man continues, arms loosening, and Arsene realizes he's been picking at his restraints this whole time. Arsene moves quicker, but the man gets free and removes the gag—

"Goro, I'm sorry I bullied you! I was just a dumb kid! I've changed—!"

Arsene covers his mouth with the gag again, quickly taping the oxygen mask over him. He thrashes more, but it's more aimless; much like panic than a mildly calculated effort to communicate. The man continues to put up a fight, squirming this way and that even as Arsene restrains him and carries him. Syllables barely resembling Akechi's name come out as muffled sounds, as Arsene carries the man to the vat. He hesitates for a moment— _ I've changed— _ and drops the man inside.

Arsene doesn't watch, instead turning to Akechi. The human doesn't seem to have any particular feelings about it, but Arsene has a feeling the neutrality the human puts up is merely a facade. A very good one too, Arsene notes, but he doesn't pry. Akechi simply pushes the second corpse away too, letting it roll off the table and onto the first one; then he stares at the two, facing them yet looking somewhere far away.

After another moment, Arsene gets the man out of the vat and lays him on the table, like the others. As expected, despite being boiled, the man has quite a bit of fight left and Arsene struggles a little more than usual. Once restrained, Arsene steps back and lets Akechi do his thing—

Except Akechi drives the knife into the man's heart. Blood gushes out and the man convulses and screams—then quickly loses life. Akechi digs the knife in deeper, twisting it this way and that as if to draw out as much blood as possible, before pulling it out and stabbing again, deeper. The knife is sheathed completely in the chest; and then and only then does Akechi pull away.

"Kill them," Akechi says.

"Pardon?"

"The rest," Akechi points at the last two. "Slice them, boil them, burn them—I don't care."

The human then leaves the premises without another word, disappearing into the darkness outside. And there's something familiar in the way he does, leaving the room bloodied the way he is and his back turned. The context of the situation gives Arsene the deep sense of  _ deja vu,  _ somehow. He's not sure what about it exactly, whether it be the way Akechi walks off into the surrounding dark of the entire context, Arsene isn't sure. He simply files it away, to examine when not on duty.

_ These two are lucky, _ Arsene thinks, and does what he's told.

He soon meets Akechi again outside, the remains of the five targets burning away with all the evidence there is to find. The human simply stares at the moon, quiet—and somehow this particular scene feels right out of his memories, despite not remembering this at all.

"I need a bath."

Akechi holds himself as he says it, staring up at the sky.

* * *

The moment they get back, Akechi goes straight for the bathroom and locks it—Arsene makes no comment and, as usual, cooks something for Akechi, despite being in the middle of the night. So he does; he throws together a healthy serving of hamburg  _ omurice— _ except by the time he's done Akechi has yet to emerge. Then five minutes pass. Then ten. Then thirty. Then an hour. Arsene waits, patiently, because he knows. He  _ knows  _ what's happening but Akechi is obviously denying it. He can only sit and wait for the human.

And so his mind wanders. He digs up what he remembered earlier that day, the emotions, the night sky, the—

Akechi falls into Arsene's arms—flesh, human—and he sputters out blood. Weakly, he touches Arsene's face and Arsene holds his hand there, tight. Both their hands are bloody, and the uniform Akechi wears is quickly becoming stained with blossoming red chrysanthemums. Arsene can't help the tears that fill his eyes, trail down his cheeks and drip onto the other. 

_ When did this happen?  _ Why _ did this happen? _

None of that is answered; Arsene can't even ask. Akechi weakly mouths something—an apology—and smiles ruefully; regretfully. Arsene lets go of his hand just to tuck a tuft of hair behind his ear. It's a loving gesture, one that is so intimate that, for sure, they have been together for so long. It's painful; it's painful for so many reasons. He can’t understand all the reasons until he notices in his hand, a sword.

It dawns on Arsene that he—

Arsene shakes his head as he cries, dropping the sword to clutch Akechi tighter, embrace the other, one last time—

_ "That's not enough." _

_ Why now? _

The memory falls to pieces before Arsene can even process it—the door to the bathroom swings open and Arsene is roughly brought into reality. There’s whiplash, from seeing Akechi dying in his arms and bleeding, to seeing Akechi naked, dripping wet but healthy. Arsene moves to stand from the floor, but Akechi stops him with a firm kiss to his mask.

One, two, maybe ten too many things go through Arsene's mind at once and he freezes up; lets Akechi do what he wants for the moment, incapable of figuring out what  _ he  _ wants. 

As if let loose, Akechi presses his whole body against Arsene. He pushes and makes Arsene fall back before reconnecting, even going so far as to force his tongue in the flames of Arsene's mouth. He grinds on Arsene's stomach, desperate for touch—and finally, Arsene's mind catches up and the demon grabs his hips and stills him. Akechi pulls away, clearly annoyed.

"What are you doing?" He asks it with a demanding, no nonsense tone. Impatient and fiery. His face is cold, void of any obvious emotion other than annoyance.

"I'm stopping you."

"Why?" His eyes begin to blaze. "Because you're planning to have sex with me for my soul? I don't care, just fuck me  _ now. _ "

He squirms in Arsene's hold, but Arsene is much, much stronger when need be. "That's not what you need right now."

"Who are you to tell me what I need?" Akechi's hands curl into fists as they lay on Arsene's chest. His teeth are gritted and he begins to tremble; he looks down, as if bowing—begging. "I know what I need, and I need you to  _ fuck  _ me. Right now.  _ Just do it. _ "

Despite his words, he doesn't make a move. He stays still, frozen except for the small trembles. Arsene heaves a sigh and straightens somewhat; his wings spread and cocoon them both, as if to hug the human without quite invading his space. Arsene lightly touches a claw to Akechi's chin and coaxes the human to look up. He looks tired for more than a few reasons.

"This isn't how you thought things would be."

Akechi doesn't answer.

"This is too much…isn't it?"

Akechi closes his eyes.

"Why are you forcing yourself, Akechi?"

Akechi slips out of Arsene's light hold of his face and instead curls up completely against Arsene, shaking. He doesn't answer for a long, long while—but Arsene waits. Patiently. Claws lightly scratch Akechi's scalp as Arsene combs through his hair, soothing the human however possible.

Then finally, Akechi's voice comes out quiet. "I planned this for so, so long. I wanted this. I  _ thought _ I wanted this."

He hides his face in Arsene's chest, but he continues to speak. The floodgates have clearly opened, and Arsene holds the human, as if to help ground him against the current. "When I look in the mirror I just see—I see all the ways my blood could spill out of me. I look at my body and think of how easy it would be for me to just get a knife and open myself up. I look at my face and I don't see me, I see—I see skin, and eyes, and hair, and  _ so _ much blood underneath it all. I've always hated this, always hated how fake I looked, but now I don't even feel  _ real. _

"I couldn't take it," he says, "but I had to keep going, because I wanted to at some point before this. I wanted revenge, and I'd planned this for  _ so _ long, that not going through with it would be a disservice to myself. I told myself it was like justice too, just to help, but…"

That man; the one Arsene boiled and Akechi stabbed. The last straw. 

Akechi pushes himself up and looks at Arsene; his eyes shine with unshed tears and his smile is so broken, Arsene's heart aches for him. 

"I wanted to pretend, even for a few moments, that I had summoned you for different reasons; that I was feeling lonely, so I summoned a demon to fuck me senseless—that you laughed at me, that low and melodious laugh of yours, that you landed on the ground and quickly cornered me, and I wanted you to take me again and again and  _ again _ so I could stop feeling like my body was no longer just something to rip open and disembowel."

Akechi's hands hold the sides of Arsene's mask and his teary eyes look deep into Arsene's flaming ones. "I've been used for this for so long that I've fooled even myself," he says. "Please—please use me for something else."

Arsene shakes his head. "No."

Slowly, Akechi lets go and looks away, unable to keep eye contact. Tears spill from his eyes. "Am I that disgusting to you?"

Arsene shakes his head again. "Quite the opposite." Once again, he coaxes the human to look at him, and this time, he wipes away Akechi's tears with his digits, claw angled away. This sparks something in Arsene; something familiar and painful. "But sex isn't what you need, Akechi."

Arsene's arms then wrap around Akechi, tight, holding the human securely. Akechi struggles weakly, with small protests—"what are you doing?"—but his emotions win out and his sorrow, his regret—everything—takes over him. Akechi caves in, buries his face into the crook of Arsene's neck and he begins sobbing openly. He shakes like a leaf and his arms wrap around Arsene, twisting his hands into the cloth of Arsene's bolero.

And through it all, Arsene runs his dulled claws over Akechi's form in what he hopes to be soothing motions. He holds the human, firmly—lets Akechi know that this time, someone cares.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round of applause! First multichapter fic I finished without having the benefit of holding onto all the chapters sxgasdfg
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
> Special thanks to [@vintgecassette ](https://twitter.com/vintgecassette) for lessening my burden.

Sleep for creatures like him is unnecessary. They have no biological functions, they simply… exist. Souls that have merged with their physical forms, and—apparently—keeping them from reincarnation. There's no true form of rest for creatures like Arsene; only brief moments of respite. It's something Arsene is used to, for better or worse. Watching the world keep going, watching humans slowly destroy this place, yet still—

Arsene holds Akechi through the night. The human cries and cries until nothing comes out anymore; then he lies on Arsene, still. He stares into space and quietly, weakly asks to be put to sleep—because he has nightmares, has  _ been  _ having them. Arsene concedes of course; and the human quickly falls into slumber, in Arsene's arms. 

They stay like that.

Apart from transferring to the bed, Arsene does his best not to move. Even if the  _ omurice  _ is left out and quickly getting cold, he doesn't move. He can deal with that later; for now, he lets Akechi sleep in his arms. He combs through Akechi's hair, tenderly wiping his face to remove the tear tracks. He folds his wings over the both of them to keep Akechi warm. The human moves every so often, but only a little; and more often than not, only to snuggle deeper into Arsene's hold.

Akechi is at peace. He even has a soft smile; a good dream for once.

Arsene's mask meets the top of Akechi's head in a soft kiss. Protective. Perhaps even _ possessive.  _ It's a mix of feelings Arsene can't fathom, but he forces himself to. After all, there's only one more target left; Masayoshi Shido. And after that—payment, if Arsene would go through with it at all.

And he can't tell, actually. He doesn't know if he wants to.

It'll be so easy to simply  _ not  _ take Akechi's soul, but at the same time, it feels  _ wrong _ somehow. After all, where would Akechi go after this? In some ways, Arsene doesn't want the human's soul—but in some ways he  _ does,  _ and the paradox is beginning to drive him mad.

He tries to break it down; they were lovers in a past life. They  _ must  _ have been. The familiarity of Akechi matches so well with the  _ samurai  _ in his memories from centuries ago. Wouldn't he want to keep Akechi alive, then?

But no—not even in their old lives—

_ "I'm sorry." _

_ "That's not enough." _

Thinking that already feels like a raw nerve. It's hot and painful, a heated knife pressed right to his body and kept there; never leaving, never giving him reprieve. It haunts him, and for once Arsene isn't sure he wants to remember any more. The memory of Akechi in his arms, bleeding, apologizing, is so close to Arsene's reason for being who he is now. It's  _ so  _ close and yet—unlike before, he doesn't reach out to grasp it. He can't bring himself to.

Arsene can leave the memory alone; he can lock all his memories and all his emotions away, like always. Then, he can simply drain Akechi's life force, like he always does with his clients. Easy. He only has to do what he's always been doing.

And yet it feels wrong. Arsene can't place a name to the feeling, but it hinders him from completely settling on that decision. After all, he still desires, on some deeper level, Akechi's soul—and he can't understand  _ why.  _ Taking Akechi's soul and keeping it, functionally speaking, has the same end as draining the human's life force instead; Akechi would be dead, gone forever. The human's soul would only be a decor, something to fuse with Arsene's to make him more powerful, but nothing more meaningful than that. On the other hand, however, letting Akechi live would potentially mean being able to continue enjoying his company—which on some sentimental, emotional level is the same as keeping the human's soul with him.

It's so easy to decide on taking Akechi's soul. It's  _ so  _ easy. And yet—it feels wrong, too.

Why?

Why does he have such conflicting feelings like this?

Akechi, in his flesh arms; bleeding out and smiling regretfully. Arsene, one hand holding his bloodied sword and one caressing Akechi's face. The memory stays there, paused; and for once it's completely solid. The answer is within reach. Arsene need only grasp it, but it's  _ terrifying _ to do so. There's the distinct feeling of never going back, combined with the instinctual knowledge that he won't have this chance again. It pressures him in unique ways: should he remember past trauma, but finally understand who he was back then and how he became who he is now—or should he remain in blissful ignorance, but forever roam the earth the same way he has been for centuries now, never finding a sense of closure?

Arsene tightens his hold on Akechi—embraces the human. If he lets himself remember, will he feel hate once more?

It's terrifying.

But he knows he can't keep living like this; apathetic, watching, vaguely wondering who he used to be—not thinking about it. Never thinking about it. He'd hardly ever thought about his past, at least in recent decades, or even centuries. He'd lost count. It simply stopped being important when he'd found nothing before. Now, though, there is  _ a lot  _ more—and he can't  _ not  _ think about it.

_ Now is my only chance. _

The words are automatic. There's no proof it's the only chance he has, but it  _ feels  _ like it—and that's enough to compel Arsene to reach out.

And suddenly the memory rewinds—

Under the darkness of night, in all black, they leave the rich house with treasures in their arms.  _ Samurai  _ chase them, but they're quicker without so much armor weighing them down. All eight of them disappear into the woods. One of them panics; and Arsene sees it—blood, all over the front.

_ "Fuck, what do we do?" _

_ "It's okay, it… wasn't fatal, was it?" _

_ "I don't know—" _

It was fatal. Somehow, Arsene  _ knows _ it was a fatal strike. In the darkness, it's so easy to mistake a young woman getting a drink for one of the  _ samurai  _ guarding the  _ daimyo's _ house; and one of them did  _ just _ that. It's a miracle they went so long without making a mistake like that, to be honest.  _ "Let's just go,"  _ Arsene says, terse.  _ "We need to get this back to the village." _

The world shifts and suddenly Arsene is alone, in his fisherman clothes. He'd gone for a swim somewhere else, for some reason, only to come back to—

The  _ samurai  _ load the little treasure they stole back, the rest having already been spent on food. His small fishing village is ominously quiet. The small, rickety houses are visibly empty, doors broken in and prone bodies on the floor on top of growing dark puddles. He recognizes the houses of his friends and his family and it's the same—with shattered wood and slashed bodies. The  _ samurai _ get on their horses. Their clothes are stained and they make their way back out of the village. They don't see him—but Arsene sees  _ them. _ He memorizes them all. He—

Akechi, in his arms, smiling regretfully. He feels a hand lovingly caress his cheek. There are tears in Akechi's eyes that Arsene wipes away. The other's voice comes out soft and close to nothing. 

_ "I didn't know that was your village." _

He doesn't answer. Somehow he knows Akechi didn't; somehow, he knows that Akechi didn't have much of a choice. Memories and contexts flood into Arsene, filling him to the point of breaking, but Arsene remains still, watching Akechi. The other’s tears spill down the sides of his face.

_ "I'm… sorry." _

Arsene shakes his head.  _ "That's not enough." _

_ "I know…"  _ Akechi laughs humorlessly, uses the last of his strength to curl a hand into Arsene's hair; the same way he would to ask for a kiss—or some kind of closeness with a lover. Arsene follows the pull of his hand and he whispers.

_ "I'm glad it was you who killed me." _

It hurts. It hurts so much. And despite all the anger and sorrow and  _ hurt,  _ Arsene meets Akechi in a searing kiss that lasts as long as it takes before he—

"Arsene!"

Akechi is holding his mask, looking at him with wide, concerned eyes that shine even in the darkness of midnight. The human wipes the sides, right beneath his flaming eyes. "You're crying…"

It's true, he realizes. Despite the flames that make up his features, water spills from it, trailing down his mask and onto Akechi's living hands. It's a first in a long, long while, and Arsene freezes up. The human must see this, and so leaves Arsene's embrace and returns with a tissue box. Akechi begins gently wiping away the tears; Arsene takes one and does the same with his other eye.

"What's wrong?" Akechi asks softly. "You were really lost in thought there."

"Nothing."

Akechi clearly doesn't believe him, but the human doesn't pry. Arsene is silently thankful, because he can't imagine having to explain his memories. Instead, he asks: "did I wake you?"

Akechi pulls away, settling back in between Arsene's stretched legs. He sets aside the tissue box and gets comfortable. "Yeah… it's okay though."

"Still, I apologize."

The human pulls a blanket over himself and Arsene's legs, leaning against the demon's chest. He lays on his side and wraps an arm around Arsene's waist. He snuggles close, and Arsene embraces him once more. Quietly, he says: "It's all right, Arsene." He yawns. "I'm here…"

His words hold much more weight than he realizes, and Arsene can't help but give in to the urge of holding the human tighter, as if afraid he would disappear again—even if Arsene was why he disappeared—even if Akechi  _ deserved _ to disappear. Still, Arsene finds that he doesn't care so much; his desire for comfort and his desire to kill melt into something more possessive and twisted. But Akechi feels none of that; instead, Akechi sleepily returns the affection by pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Arsene's mask.

The gesture invokes so, so many feelings in Arsene, all at once. Suddenly, every emotion within him pierces his heart like shattered glass. There's so many, and all so different, and yet they all hurt him the same.

_ I want to kill you; but I want your warmth. _

_ I want to keep you with me; but I want your death. _

_ I want your soul.  _

_ But I— _

He holds tight onto what little he has left. He does his best to pluck out the shards and lick his wounds clean; to throw all the broken glass in a chest to be dealt with some other time, when he isn't holding the point of contention in his arms. For now, he wants to hold his human, and make sure that his human sleeps well. And so he does. 

Softly, in his sleep, Akechi smiles.

* * *

It’s noon when Akechi wakes up. By then, Arsene had effectively locked all the…uncharitable sentiments away, and things go back to normal between them; or as normal as possible.

Akechi still watches him with a concerned gaze, persistent but never overbearing. It's comforting, but the warmth of it threatens to bring out the more ugly parts of Arsene, and he's determined to keep all  _ that _ under wraps. Arsene, therefore, doesn't acknowledge it and hopes the human gets the idea.

Arsene heats the  _ omurice  _ as Akechi pulls on another pair of pants and a large shirt, and when the human sits down and starts eating, it's quiet. Arsene can't think of anything to say—and it seems neither can Akechi. The night before was so  _ different  _ to everything else, and now the reality of it slowly catches up again. They have at most one day, maybe one more night too, before this deal is over in one way or another, and Arsene would have to decide.

_ I want to— _

"Thank you for the food," Akechi says quietly as he sets his chopsticks and spoon down. "It's delicious, as always."

"I'm glad you like it." Arsene smiles wide. "Do you have a favorite dish? I can cook it for you."

Akechi laughs, but it's hollow. "My favorite dish as a last meal… that's very considerate of you, Arsene."

That wasn't what Arsene was going for and he regrets mentioning it at all. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but he does his best not to show it. The tone shifts and the reality of their situation settles on them enough that Arsene doesn't feel like he's ruining anything when he asks: "are you planning to continue?"

"Of all the targets," Akechi says. "Shido is the most vile and most deserving."

"So, it's a yes."

Akechi nods. Arsene doesn't ask again; he knows it's pointless. The implication that Akechi should have just gone straight for Shido hangs in the air, but Arsene knows it's too much to say that.

With only one target, preparation and briefing aren't as necessary, but Akechi does so anyway. The plan is to ambush Shido in his own house, tie him down, and… sit back and watch the show, Akechi says.  _ What  _ show, Arsene isn't sure, but when Akechi then says they need to spend a few hours of the day catching  _ rats,  _ Arsene gets the idea. And admittedly, it's also fitting. Poetic, even.

Under Arsene's spell, they're hidden even in broad daylight as they go to the seedier parts of Tokyo and retrieve the filthiest rats they can find. They get their hands on five rats, put them to sleep, and drop them in a cage. Through all this, conversation between them is sparse. Even to Arsene it starts feeling a little too much like their time is slowly running out, but he tries not to think about it.

It doesn't work, of course. Every time he looks at Akechi, he can only think of the decision he'd have to make.

Still, he does his best to at least pretend everything is fine—for the both of them. Akechi smiles weakly at him and he can feel the faintest sense of gratitude, followed by the underlying, ever-present anxiety of what's to come. It eats at him—eats at both of them really—and the handle Arsene usually has over his emotions wanes.

_ Not good, not good. _

He wonders if things would've been better if he let Akechi's call slide. If he'd said,  _ I have other things to do,  _ and ignored the human. Would things be better?

He can't tell. Stagnancy is a curse in and of itself, but the dilemma, the memories, and the emotions he faces weigh heavily on him. It's traumatic remembering everything—a sudden, overwhelming cascade of memories—and Arsene can't help still feeling like he's full of wounds and bleeding all over, trying to pretend he's fine. Looking at Akechi and being reminded of  _ everything  _ feels too much like pressing his claws into deep lacerations, yet he can't bring himself to do anything about it other than pretend the cuts aren't there.

They go back to the apartment to wait. Akechi sets the cage in a corner and washes up; Arsene does the same before throwing together a little snack for the both of them.

Late afternoon sun streams in through the blinds; the sparse room is bathed in orange light. They have a couple of hours left before they can go after Shido. Fortunately, it's a weekday, and from Akechi's intel, Shido should be in his house by evening. "Hopefully," Akechi had said earlier, "uninebriated. If not, well—it doesn't matter so much. It'll be painful all the same."

To pass the time, Arsene throws together some French toast and serves it to Akechi, who had left the bathroom already and sits patiently at the table, in the same large shirt and pajama pants.  _ Almost like a child _ , Arsene thinks fondly. Akechi offers a quiet thank you as he takes the plate, with a soft smile and everything. Despite their circumstances, it feels intimate and the silence feels more comfortable; as Akechi eats, Arsene switches between watching the human and watching the rats, pretending they're pets.

It's still bright out by the time Akechi finishes and drops the plate into the sink. Arsene moves to wash it—

"There's no point in doing that," Akechi says lightly. He smiles up at Arsene, but his emotions are hidden. "After tonight, it won't matter, right? Whether you get my soul or not, I don't think I…" his smile wanes. "I won't be here long."

Bitterness coats Arsene's tongue, but he doesn't outwardly react. He doesn't want to think about this, even if a small voice at the back of his mind yells that he's simply trying to escape. "You plan to kill yourself once this is over?"

"If you don't take my soul," Akechi smiles. "Yes."

Arsene sits back down and his voice comes out quiet. "I see."

That's all he can bring himself to say, and frankly, he's struck by how the knowledge of Akechi's plans does nothing to ease the complexity of his feelings. And it dawns on him that he simply… doesn't want the human to die.

_ He's why they found your village. He's why everyone died. _

_ But that was another life. This is new. _

_ It's the same soul. _

_ But— _

"Will you take my soul?" Akechi asks, smiling but in that way that makes none of his thoughts known. A wonderful, flexible poker face.

Arsene has his own. "Yes."

The certainty is a lie. Arsene wonders if Akechi can tell, now that the human is aware of the fiery ties between them. He wonders if Akechi can hold onto the threads and feel Arsene's turmoil. He wonders if that's why Akechi is asking.

It doesn't matter; on the surface, they both give nothing away. Akechi smiles wider, yet emptier, and says: "Ah, then I suppose I have to dress up."

"You don't have to."

The human gives a more genuine, and sheepish smile; one that cuts through Arsene somehow with the sense of domesticity it evokes. The human's cheeks gain a light flush; shy, flustered, his eyes look away in his embarrassment. "I'd…like to look my best for you."

"Akechi—"

The human stands and goes around the table, wrapping his arms around Arsene's neck and pressing a soft kiss to the demon's head. One of his hands trail along the side of Arsene's mask. "You're my first relationship, you know?" Akechi's smile is both sad and fond; his fingers move from Arsene's mask and trail up and down Arsene's shoulders and chest. "We haven't even gone on a proper date, and already you have plans of taking me—ah, I want to at least pretend we're going slow."

They both know it's a stale joke, if not an outright lie; last night was proof of that. Arsene holds onto the threads and feels Akechi's shivering anxiety. It's telling; a desire for distraction, a desire for closeness before eternal rest—an impending end to existence that scares the human on a fundamental level. It's a fear Akechi wants to hide from.

_ "I'm glad it was you who killed me." _

_ It's human to fear death. _

“If that is what my human prefers.”

"Your…human?"

Arsene nods and he kneels down in front of Akechi. "Is that okay?"

His human smiles, cheeks tinted. "It's more than okay. I like it, actually." Akechi hugs Arsene and softly kisses the top of his mask. "I like the idea of being yours."

"Throwing yourself at my feet, despite not even being together for a week?"

A laugh so soft and humorless, it wipes away Arsene's smirk in a heartbeat. "I feel like I've known you for…a while."

Arsene tenses. Akechi gives him nothing else but a soft kiss to his flames. It feels sorrowful and heavy with meaning and  _ familiar. _ Akechi's tongue dips into the flames and he draws the human closer by the hips. It presses into his wounds, but Arsene is surprisingly masochistic, so he deepens the kiss—as deep as possible without simply opening his maw and shoving his tongue down the human's throat. His wings stretch around them both and his dulled claws dig into the human's hips as Akechi's legs buckle.

Arsene shifts into a sitting position and Akechi quickly straddles his lap. They reconnect again; Arsene makes a pseudo tongue out of his flames and lets it travel into Akechi's mouth. His human hums in appreciation and does the same.

It's warm, and soft, and everything hurts somehow. 

_ It feels right—despite everything. _

The sun has set and the apartment is dark.

Akechi pulls away, lips glistening with his own saliva and reddened from Arsene's flames. His eyes gain focus and a somber quality colors them; a deep kind of melancholy that Arsene feels without having to touch the threads that tie them together.

"I have to change."

"... Of course."

Neither of them move from each other, incapable of doing so.

* * *

When they arrive, the house is still dark. Akechi laughs lightly. "I suppose he had a stressful day."

They leave it at that.

The house is well furnished and spotless. It's mostly a rich and traditional Japanese aesthetic, with polished wooden floors and  _ tatami  _ mats. There's a  _ kotatsu  _ with a heated blanket, surrounded by sofas. Arsene and Akechi take the liberty of pushing the  _ kotatsu  _ elsewhere and arranging the sofas such that Shido could be tied by the limbs to the legs of the furniture. The living room itself is not as extravagant as Arsene expected; it's actually quite sparse, though it boasts multiple wall decorations and a display table against the wall. On it, a variety of things; from an actual  _ katana  _ to a row of model ships.

The display table seems to catch Akechi's attention, and he walks over and studies it, uncaring of the fact he still wore his dress shoes and is now standing on  _ tatami  _ mats. 

From behind, Arsene admires the work of art the human is and always has been. Akechi wasn’t joking when he said he would dress up. The white suit he wears is a perfect fit, accentuating his toned body; his shoulders are properly emphasized and his frame dips into a tight waist. The black turtleneck he has on complements the white suit such that the eyes are drawn to his slender neck and down his form.

Akechi is jaw droppingly beautiful. He always has been, ever since Arsene met him; in this life and in their past lives. If Arsene looks at him like the most precious thing in the world, Akechi doesn’t notice.

Finally, Akechi turns away from the display table, carrying a model ship in his hands. He has a rather blank expression, clearly deep in thought, staring at the model. It's vaguely familiar to Arsene in the same way a passing antique would be. He has half a mind to ask, when all of a sudden, the sliding door opens—

Arsene acts quickly. Shido doesn't get much time to react given his inebriated state.

His legs and arms are broken in no time and the phone in his hand smashed under Arsene's heel. Arsene then drags the struggling, cursing man to the sofas and ties him as planned; with a cloth gag shoved into his mouth and everything. With a quick swipe of his claw, Arsene exposes Shido's upper body. Then, he gets the rat cage, removes the tray, and secures it over the man's belly with belts looped around the bars and under the man.

Akechi watches it all unfold, passively.

Arsene pulls away, readying blue flames to burn above the cage. He looks to his human, who cradles the model ship carefully and stares at it, pensive.

"Akechi?"

"You never fixed the cannon," Akechi says, still staring down at the ship. His lips twitch up in a facsimile of a smile. "I would ask why you kept this after all these years, but…"

He trails off and looks at Shido. His expression is blank, but there's a certain honesty in his eyes Arsene hasn't seen before during these torture sessions. Shido struggles to say something, shaking his head in desperation. The muffles form only two syllables, but Akechi seems to understand.

"Of course." He nods to himself. "Like anyone else, you're…complicated. Another person trying to survive."

Arsene sees that his eyes shine, though his face is still set. He doesn't crumple like the night before; his voice doesn't hitch; he doesn't even wipe the tears away. Without shame, without any hesitation, Akechi meets Shido's gaze and holds it. 

"I'm a monster now, just like you," he says with a gentle smile. "Are you proud of me, father?"

Garnet eyes then flick to Arsene and he gets the idea. Arsene lights the fire and sets it over the cage. Akechi takes a seat on one of the sofas and Arsene follows suit. The cage heats up fast and the rats—which have been squeaking this whole time—go into an absolute frenzy. They search for an exit but find only rapidly heating bars.

They begin to dig, and bite, and dig and bite—there are muffled screams and loud, panicked squeaks; there is blood and pieces of flesh and the rats dig into Shido without mercy and there is  _ so _ much muffled screaming. Though it's all the same; all of this is the same. The burning, the forced drinking, the nailing, the flaying—it's all the same. Even in Arsene's mind it blends together. His desensitization isn’t surprising.

Like anyone else, Arsene had become a monster too. After all, in his memories, he didn't stop at Akechi. 

The memories ambushed him all at once, and even now he still tries to process it all. 

How he dropped Akechi's lifeless body.

How he stepped over the corpse and, filled with inhuman power, slaughtered the other  _ samurai. _

How he found Akechi's village and slaughtered them too. 

How he beheaded the  _ daimyo _ whose daughter they accidentally murdered. 

How, brimming with rage at the world that forced him past the breaking point, went to the palace of the  _ shogun  _ and burned that to the ground.

The hellfire, the wailing, then the silence of the night. He morphs; his soul attaches to his physical shell and contorts it. He shifts, his body becomes clay, and it hurts almost as much as his bleeding heart does. Wings spread behind him and his face splits open, then hardens into a mask. He screams into the night, against the backdrop of hell itself.

Then the guilt; the sinking feeling of what he'd become, of what he’d done, of what he’d lost—

And, with the little he has left, he locks everything away—all the hurt, the anger, the hate—only to dredge everything back up centuries later, faced with the person that gave him the last straw.

In the end, he and Akechi are terrifyingly similar; driven to a breaking point by the world around them, seeking a kind of catharsis that soothes their wounds and makes it so that the source of their pain never even happened. Though, revisiting his memories, armed with centuries more of experience and of watching people enact vengeance again and again, Arsene realizes that no such catharsis exists. What's happened has happened, and there's simply no changing that. 

The only thing left to do is move forward with the broken pieces of themselves. Enacting revenge is only satisfying in the moment, but the aftermath is numbing. Stagnant. Empty. But amidst that, a desire for something to change.

And maybe that's why he's here now, with his memories, sitting next to the man that betrayed him and instigated the most painful part of his life.

Akechi watches everything unfold with a distant gaze—with the same hollowness Arsene is too familiar with. Shido soon becomes a body that stops struggling as the rats find a way out in the sides of his flesh. The corpse is left bleeding out, with cage metal fused to its skin and a gaping crater in place of a proper abdomen. The rats scurry to the edges of the room and disappear.

"That wasn't as satisfying as I hoped it would be," Akechi says.

"It never is."

Akechi clutches the model ship tighter.

"Thank you for not stopping me," he says. "I think I needed to feel this way."

Arsene stands and moves to block Akechi's view of the body. He tucks a few strands of hair behind his human's ear. "Shall we leave?"

Akechi stands, drops the ship onto the floor and drives his heel through it. It shatters completely under the force. Akechi gives nothing away, face completely blank.

"Yes, let's go."

* * *

When they get back to the apartment, Arsene asks what Akechi wants to eat; he shakes his head, says he's not very hungry—but coffee would be nice. "That makes for a nice last meal, right?" He says with a smile as he flicks open the lights. 

Arsene prepares some without question. He'd have gone the extra mile of making shortbread, but he had a feeling Akechi wouldn't want to delay the inevitable much longer. Arsene prepares two cups with the coffee; one he slides to Akechi, and the other he holds in his clawed hands. 

It's quiet. The lights of the apartment are sterile.

Arsene cracks open his mask a little, lapping up a bit of coffee with his tentacle-like tongue. Akechi watches, mildly intrigued.

The coffee is drained within minutes. Akechi sets down the cup and Arsene does the same. They don't move from the table, and Arsene holds one of the threads to know what his human is feeling. Trepidation, followed by acceptance and trust—and somehow, he feels Akechi touching the claws he has on their ties, fingers sliding to his palm and squeezing it. It's soft and understanding; metaphysical. Arsene wonders what he feels, because he can't tell; though Akechi's small smile gives him an idea.

With nothing else, Akechi stands and begins undressing, carefully folding his clothes. It’s a useless gesture—they both know that—but Akechi does it anyway and Arsene doesn’t stop him. Arsene simply settles on the bed, spreading his arms wide to accept Akechi once he’s completely nude.

Arsene can't bring himself to do anything, for one reason or another; he simply holds his human close, trying to forget everything else. He rests his mask in the crook of Akechi's neck and his human seems to understand, wrapping him in a hug. For a moment, a long moment, they stay like that—and Arsene wishes desperately that they could stay that way forever.

But then, Akechi pulls away. "Shall we?"

Arsene nods. He shifts Akechi to lay on the bed, then once again admires the work of art: from the soft, milky skin that radiates warmth to the fluffy butterscotch hair that feels almost like silk between Arsene's claws. The scars are still there, unfortunately, but they don't bother Arsene. He presses his mask against them, trailing across his human's chest, and he hears Akechi's breath hitch. That gets him to chuckle, voice low enough that Akechi shivers. 

"Relax, my love."

At that, surprise colors Akechi's expression. Arsene is similarly surprised at himself, but he hides it by pressing a flaming kiss to the side of Akechi's neck.

Akechi's breath gets caught again, only released as a soft gasp when Arsene's mask splits open and his warm, serpentine tongue slithers out and drags across his human's skin. It goes over sensitive nubs and flicks them, before exploring the rest of Akechi's body. The air is soon filled with the sound of Akechi's ragged breathing.

Slowly, Akechi's legs spread, as if to present himself to Arsene. Arsene chuckles again and the reverberations travel down the tentacle, trailing across skin. Akechi shivers and gives a filthy moan when Arsene's tongue wraps securely around his length. He draws his knees in and his hips lift off the mattress. Akechi's hands curl into the pillows; his eyes screw shut and his mouth hangs open. 

Wrapped in Arsene's warm tongue, Akechi quickly hardens. The tongue slides up and down his length, pumping slowly before steadily moving faster. His tongue tightens around Akechi, slithering around until the very tip of it can stroke Akechi's scrotum. This earns Arsene a surprised gasp and a high whine. Akechi squirms, back arching, overwhelmed with the warm, wet feeling of it.

Arsene keeps going, lightly stroking and fondling Akechi's balls with tongue alone. He runs his hands along Akechi's thighs, appreciating the flesh, then hoists his human's legs over his shoulders. Arsene slides his serpentine tongue further; he strokes Akechi's perineum then lightly prods at his human's entrance. Akechi moans and tries to hide in the pillows but ultimately fails, considering their position.

Carefully, Arsene's tentacle slithers into Akechi. He does it slowly, making sure Akechi is stretched properly with each bit more he coaxes in. Beneath him, Akechi writhes, clearly struggling to hold onto composure; his human whimpers out soft, pleading words. Arsene acquiesces, of course. His tongue slithers deeper in and presses into the sides to find—

"A-ah!"

Akechi's back arches off the bed, his face pressed into the pillow. His legs fold, trying to bring Arsene closer—and of course Arsene follows as his tongue slides further in. Akechi loses control of his voice fast. His breathing is quick and accompanied by the lingering sound of pleasure at the back of his throat; his hands are curled into the pillowcases, knuckles white from the force.

_ He looks so beautiful like that. _

_ No matter what, he’s always beautiful. _

Arsene eventually finds a proper rhythm; one that bombards Akechi with as much blissful sensation as possible, and his voice affirms it. The faster Arsene strokes and rubs, the more Akechi loses control, rolling his hips and back arching off the bed, and Arsene has to hold tighter to keep him steady.

Then suddenly—"S-stop!"

Arsene does so immediately; his tongue stills completely and he looks over Akechi. "Did I hurt you?"

The question is automatic, and the concern Arsene feels is palpable. Even though—

Akechi shakes his head, but Arsene retracts it nevertheless. They shift positions and once again Akechi is straddling his lap.

"Akechi?"

"'For a human to give their soul, it requires a level of trust and vulnerability.' That's what you said, right?" Akechi leans into Arsene. "Something like that sounds like it would happen post-orgasm. At least, that's how I understand it.”

Arsene nods once; holds Akechi tighter.

"I want this to be meaningful. I want to be connected to you.”

_ I do, too. _

Akechi’s eyes are open and honest—vulnerable. “Will you allow that?"

Arsene leans in and brushes his flames against Akechi’s lips. "Of course, my human."

Arsene begins undoing the laces of his vest, pulling it open. From there, his cock springs free. Arsene knows it's long; much longer than possible for a human and much  _ stranger _ as well. It's thick at the base and tapers at the end, and still about as long as Akechi's forearm. Though, like any part of Arsene, it can shift form; and by default it's quite soft. It's more like a second tentacle than a cock, wet and soft but still  _ huge. _

Akechi looks astonished; maybe even a little intimidated. Arsene smirks. "Would you like my tongue instead?"

His human looks determined again. It's cute. 

"I'll be fine.”

"…Are you sure?"

“Yes.” He says it with a frown. “Don’t be so concerned.”

Arsene nods once, incapable of saying anything else.

Akechi strokes Arsene's shaft a few times before he lines up and, carefully—oh, so carefully—takes Arsene in. A moan catches in his throat as he does and he has to lean on Arsene for stability. Arsene holds his hips, steadying him. Akechi's mouth hangs open in a silent scream, eyes closed tight and eyebrows scrunched together, as if focusing. Slowly, bit by bit, Akechi sinks down, and Arsene starts worrying again.

"You don't have to force yourself, Akechi…"

Arsene is met with a weak glare. "Stop it." Akechi sinks further down and a high pitched moan rips out of him. His hands curl into Arsene's bolero. "Stop being so nice."

Reluctantly, Arsene does as told and lets Akechi do what he wants. Arsene holds onto him tighter the lower he goes, until eventually he's all the way down and flush against Arsene. He collapses against the demon breathing hard and shivering. 

Arsene steadies his breathing as best he can. Akechi is—tight. Very tight; but sill, he doesn't move, too scared to hurt Akechi, despite—

Akechi starts moving himself, holding Arsene's shoulders for leverage. Carefully, he sets a steady pace and Arsene moans low, dull claws digging into his thighs. Sooner than expected, Akechi moves faster, lifting himself as high as possible before sinking all the way down. His back arches beautifully and he rolls his hips as he moves, reaching ecstasy frighteningly fast. Arsene leans close to run the long, serpentine tongue along Akechi's skin—and when Akechi opens his mouth, Arsene shoves the tongue deep inside.

That seems to get Akechi going. His human's hips begin to stutter as Akechi becomes overwhelmed with sensation. Arsene decides to take it from there, holding Akechi steady as he thrusts both appendages inside, at the same pace. 

Akechi moans and  _ moans _ around Arsene's tongue and his eyes are glazed over with pure pleasure. Unable to control it, Arsene thrusts in faster, into Akechi's tight heat. He holds his human close, as close as possible, until—

Akechi comes first, untouched, and it comes out as a scream that’s barely muted by Arsene's tongue. Arsene has it slither out so he can hold Akechi better, pressing flaming kisses to the sides of his human's neck as he continues to thrust. Then, finally, he comes and Akechi moans again.

They remain that way, savoring the aftermath. When Arsene finally pulls out of Akechi, he whimpers at the loss and a gush of fluid pours out, spilling all over Arsene's legs. Akechi shivers and shakes, completely exhausted, but still finds the strength to tuck Arsene back in.

Then—the threads show themselves. They fade into existence, bright blue like Arsene's flames, connecting Arsene's chest to Akechi's.

Akechi is mesmerized, lightly touching the threads, running his hand along them. Arsene feels the weight of his fingers along it, and Akechi must feel it too because he pulls back in surprise.

Breathe in, breathe out.

_ Will this really help me move on? _

"Well?" Akechi asks.

_ What does it even mean for me to move on? _

"It might be easier if you lay down."

_ How does one move on? _

"Okay."

Akechi lays down and watches him. Arsene's fingers tremble, but he ignites them with his magic flame and dips it into Akechi's chest. Akechi gasps, but dutifully stays still.

_ This doesn't feel right. _

His claws meet something like glass. Akechi jolts, but quickly stills again as Arsene holds the glass ball and begins pulling it out. Arsene hesitates, but forces himself to keep going. It’s warm and pulsing in his hand; undoubtedly alive.

_ … put it back. _

Akechi doesn't want to live. 

Arsene had promised from the beginning that he would let Akechi choose. This shouldn't concern him. Whatever he feels about Akechi shouldn't be a concern in this. It never should have been.

_ Put it back. _

Even if Arsene waived payment, Akechi would kill himself. This way—at least this way—he can have Akechi, in some form. And he wouldn't have to think about his memories again; those painful, painful memories. After all, he only remembered because he'd been so fixated on Akechi. Taking Akechi's soul now would make sense—a natural conclusion to their relationship. Client and demon.

_ Put it back! _

He won't be alone if he has Akechi's soul. And he won't have to think about his past ever again. He can continue as he had for the last few centuries. He can keep Akechi with him, forever, and then…

_ And then what, Arsene? _

The stagnancy—the loneliness—

_ Do I really need his soul? _

The soul in Arsene's hand is halfway out of Akechi's chest, but Arsene can't move. Suddenly, Akechi's hand takes Arsene's wrist, urging it to pull away with what little strength he has left.

He smiles. "It's okay, Arsene."

_ It's not. _

“Take it,” he says, smiling—and crying, at the same time. His hand tightens and forces Arsene to pull further away. “You’ll be okay.”

_ I won’t. This isn’t— _

The tears fall faster. “Stop second guessing.”

_ This is the impossible catharsis. _

“I can’t,” Arsene says. “I can’t.”

_ I just want to stop hurting. _

Akechi’s smile falls away; his soul is mostly out of his body and his grip weakens, but still—still he tries to pull Arsene’s hand away. “Yes, you  _ can,  _ Akira!”

_ “I love you, Akira. I love you so much.” _

They both freeze.

Akechi covers his mouth, like he’d said something he shouldn’t—his grasp on Arsene’s wrist weakens, just as Arsene’s hold on his soul weakens. The glass ball, pulsating and warm and  _ alive,  _ drops back into Akechi’s body. The threads fade away, back into the metaphysical plane. The window of opportunity passes.

A beat of silence, and then; “How long did you know?”

Akechi doesn’t look at him; one hand is still over his chest and the other hovers over his mouth. “... A while.”

“The threads.”

Akechi nods. Tears fill his eyes and they stream down his face, dampening the sheets. “I was horrible to you; and I haven’t changed, have I?” He hides what he can of his face in the sheets. “I’m still a monster. That I actually did all this—and yet, you’re still here. Yet still you…”

The words hang in the air, but Arsene understands. For once, Arsene understands everything, from why he hurts to how to stop hurting. They’re alike, he and Akechi. They’re both monsters, and they’re aware—and it hurts. Everything hurts, from the world they were forced into, to the demons they’ve become. The corruption that takes a hold of them, the loathing for everything, including themselves. Unable to accept anything, wanting to divert the pain somewhere else, if only for a moment—only to be left with hollowness. A pervading emptiness—stagnancy, apathy…

For Arsene he understands what his own answer is; and so, he holds Akechi’s face, tips it so that they’re looking into each other’s eyes. And for once, it doesn’t hurt so much, despite his own tears.

“I forgive you.”

Akechi sobs then, hiding his face in Arsene’s chest. His arms wrap around the other, holding tightly; and like before, Arsene holds him steady.

For once, Arsene feels like he’s taking a step forward. The possibilities open up new roads, many of them with Akechi. Arsene can release the threads and let Akechi turn into a creature like him, then they can live together and help each other find their own ways to move forward. Arsene can keep their threads and whisk his human away; away from the world that ruined them and escape into their own private fantasy. Arsene can take Akechi’s soul, if his human really wished for it, and carry their burdens alone—but not really. Arsene can find some way to sleep forever, so he can die with Akechi in his arms. Or, maybe something else entirely; another option he and Akechi can find together.

Perhaps, on some cosmic scale, they don’t deserve a happy ending. They’re horrible people, after all. The world is terrible and produces terrible people, but there are a hundred good people and a thousand good things that make the world seem beautiful at times. 

There are good moments like this that, maybe, they don’t deserve—but the world was never fair to begin with.

For now, they have each other—and it hurts a little less.


End file.
